


Harmonic Progression

by Bookwormgal



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: AU of Teachers AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute Kids, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Insecurity, Love at First Sight, Mentions of Death, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Neighbors, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Descriptions of Medical Procedures, Non-murderous Ernesto, Parental Substitute, Post-Divorce, Rearranged Family Tree, Single Parents, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: Héctor Rivera, a music teacher who lives with his best friend, abruptly finds himself in the role of a parental figure when hisprimoEnrique and Luisa are killed in a car accident. And he will be the first to state that it is a bad idea. He may be the boy's godfather and he adores Miguel, but Héctor is fully convinced that giving him that much responsibility will only end in disaster. After all, taking care of himself is already hard enough. Adding a grieving child that he doesn't know how to help won't make it any easier.And if that wasn't enough, there are two people moving into the same apartment building. Imelda and her daughter, Coco, are starting a new life after the woman's husband abandoned them. Imelda is ready to get to work at rebuilding. She has a daughter to take care of, after all. She doesn't have time to cry overthat man. They didn't need him. And she certainly didn't have time to notice the young man who lived in the same building, even if Coco seemed to like him.An AU of"The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher AU"





	1. A Prima Vista

**Author's Note:**

  * For [death_frisbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/gifts), [im_fairly_witty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/gifts).



> This is completely different than anything else I’ve ever written. I normally write either canon compliant or canon divergent fanfics. This is a full-blown AU, an alternate universe version of “Coco.”
> 
> And it isn’t just a normal AU. It is an AU of an AU. [Slusheeduck](http://slusheeduck.tumblr.com/) (also known as death_frisbee on AO3) and [im_quite_whitty](https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/) created a series called ["The Way You Keep Me Guessing,"](http://slusheeduck.tumblr.com/post/171152810153/the-way-you-keep-me-guessing-coco-teacherau) which is also referred to as the “Coco Teachers AU.” It involves everyone in modern times, non-murderous roommate Ernesto with a popular web show, Héctor being a music teacher as well as Enrique’s cousin rather than his ancestor, Miguel being eight instead of twelve, Miguel’s parents dying in a car accident and him ending up with Héctor, and overall some interesting changes. Far more changes and cool concepts than what I just listed. I highly recommend reading it. You can find it on Tumblr and AO3.
> 
> But with their permission, I am borrowing the previously-named elements and going off in a different direction. Thus, this story could be considered an AU of the Teachers AU. This is not canon with Slush and Wit’s story. Not even close. I have a completely different plan. But it shares enough elements that it is important to ensure that the proper people get credit.
> 
> After all, no one in this fandom wants to act like Ernesto.
> 
> So I don’t own the original “Coco” aspects. That’s Disney and Pixar. And I don’t own the aspects I borrowed from the Teachers AU. That’s Slush and Wit. But anything else is fair game.

Héctor’s alarm went off, causing him to groan tiredly as he reached over and turned it off. Part of him wanted to bury his head into his pillow and get some more sleep. The last few weeks had been exhausting and stressful. But he couldn’t. As chaotic and spontaneous as the rest of his life might be, his mornings had a routine and he needed to stick to his routine. _Especially_ when he was stressed.

Crawling out from under his blanket and shedding his pajamas as he went, Héctor plucked his clothes from the small closet. He yanked on the dark pants and socks before tossing the shirt on the bed for the moment.

He slipped out of the bedroom into the main room of the apartment. Héctor kept his movements quiet, not wanting to disturb his roommate. Nor the small figure sleeping uneasily on the couch, having recently migrated from sharing Héctor’s bed due to nightmares. And while he paused in the kitchen half of the room to get out a couple of plates from the cabinets and put them on the counter, he didn’t start looking for cooking utensils. Frozen microwave breakfasts might not be the healthiest option, but Héctor could actually cook them without burning them to a crisp or setting the apartment on fire. That was a step ahead of most items on the menu.

Most of the bathroom was crowded by Ernesto’s precious haircare products, the man’s daily regimen both detailed and excessive. But no one had ever claimed to witness a bad hair day from him. Ever. He needed to look good for the fans, after all. Appearing on his web show looking less than perfect would be unthinkable. Hence why the shelves were covered in bottles, tubes, and jars of goop.

But Héctor didn’t need much space for his belongings. He brushed his teeth to get the fuzzy taste out of his mouth before returning his toothbrush to the edge of the sink. Opening the medicine cabinet, he reached for the rest of his things. He gave his goatee a quick trim before shaving the rest of his face to a level of reasonable respectability. He’d never been able to grow a full beard and trying left him looking like a werewolf with mange. The goatee was the best option. He swallowed his dose of medication with a mouthful of water before returning the cup and the orange bottle to the top shelf. Then, even knowing that it was useless, he dragged a comb through his hair in an attempt to tame it. The mirror prove that his efforts produced mixed results.

He paused briefly in the kitchen to pop the microwavable meals in to start cooking. Then he returned to his room to grab the waiting shirt. Héctor pulled it on before doublechecking that all the papers were back in his bag, still buttoning up the shirt as he returned to the main room.

“Chamaco,” he called gently. “Time to wake up.”

Moaning groggily, the young boy said, “Papá?”

“No, Miguel,” he said, ignoring the way something in chest ached. “It’s just me.”

Still drowsy, Miguel sat up from the couch. They really needed to work out something better for the sleeping arrangements. But there were only the two bedrooms and there had been so much happening that Héctor had barely had time to think lately. So for now, it was either sharing a bed with the kid or having one of them claim the couch.

Maybe they could take turns or something.

Even as he rubbed his eyes, Héctor could see the exact moment that he remembered what happened, just like every morning. The car accident. The deaths of Enrique and Luisa. The funeral and the lawyers. And Héctor, Enrique’s _primo_ and the named godfather to the boy, abruptly finding himself the guardian of a grieving eight-year-old.

It was a lot for Miguel to deal with, more than he deserved. Héctor could barely wrap his mind around it himself at times. It… it was a lot…

_Enrique, what were you thinking? You had siblings. Or even Tía Elena. She knows how to take care of even the most challenging child. She handled me, after all. Miguel would be better off with someone who has a clue. He’s a great kid and deserves better. Enrique, why…_

“Good morning, Tío Héctor,” mumbled Miguel, pulling him from his thoughts.

His voice and posture still seemed too withdrawn, too weighed down by the events of a month and a half ago. But he’d been improving a little. When Héctor could get him distracted, he would act more like a normal eight-year-old. It was mostly the quieter and calmer moments where he would get stuck in his own thought and memories. Those were the times when reality would hit Miguel the hardest.

Which meant that he would be at his lowest emotional point usually first thing in the morning or at night when he tried to go to sleep. Héctor’s strategy so far was to get him up and moving quickly enough to pull him out of that slump.

Honestly, Héctor had no idea what he was doing and was improvising. But as long as no one knew that he was making it up as he went along and he acted confidently enough, maybe he could make it work.

“Go get dressed,” he said gently. As the microwave beeped shrilly, Héctor said, “Breakfast is ready. Hurry up. We’ve got a big day. School is starting today.”

“No one will care if I miss the first day,” said Miguel even as he stumbled to his feet.

“They’d care. Not to mention that Tía Elena would swoop in and smack me with a _chancla_ if I didn’t get you to school on time,” he said. “And it isn’t just you. I don’t get to miss the first day either.”

“Because you’re a teacher. You get _paid_ to go.”

As the boy vanished to change clothes, Héctor tossed the quick breakfasts on the plates. Half-hearted complaints about school were probably a good sign. It was normal kid stuff. He certainly preferred it to the dull look in Miguel’s eyes at the funeral. That empty and lost expression was something that Héctor never wanted to see again.

“I could always stay here,” said Miguel, his colorful pajamas exchanged for the school uniform. “I could help Ernesto de la Cruz with his videos.”

Héctor tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at him, causing the boy to shrug. Miguel finding out that Héctor lived in the same apartment as the famous internet star, the man’s show one that he loved watching, had been a shock to the kid. But one that he appreciated greatly once it sank in. And while Ernesto grumbled about Héctor suddenly showing up with a kid and how having one living with them would disrupt everything, the excited questions and mild hero worship won him over.

Though Héctor dreaded telling him that having Miguel around would probably cut back on his involvement in their performances at various clubs and such during the summers. The man’s dream of using their music to achieve the celebrity life might have to wait until Miguel was older and things settled down a bit. He hated the idea of disappointing his best friend, but Miguel and his needs _had_ to come first.

“It was just an idea,” grumbled Miguel, climbing onto the stool by the counter and reaching for his breakfast.

“Unfortunately, we’re both going to school.”

Miguel sighed heavily, managing to blow air up and ruffle the hair in his face. Tía Elena would be trying to comb it into submission by now. Or forcing more food on his plate as the boy reluctantly chewed. And Héctor couldn’t even imagine what Luisa would be doing to get her son ready for school. Or what Enrique would do.

“I know things have been rough lately,” he said, sinking into the stool next to him. “And I know that is a _huge_ understatement.”

Héctor ran a hand through his hair, ruining his earlier attempts to tame it. Serious conversations like this weren’t his specialty. Honestly, outside of a few careers like grief counseling or whatever, not many people would have much experience with it. He had no idea what to say. Héctor couldn’t even take the time to work out how _he_ felt about losing someone that he grew up with because Miguel needed to come first and… _Ay, this was impossible_. But they needed to have this conversation. Or at least touch on the topic. He had to try.

“ _Lo siento_. I wish I could make this easier for you.” He shook his head slightly. “It might be hard right now, but we’ll figure this out. Routines are supposed to help. Doing normal stuff. And that starts with both of us heading to school.”

The rest of the morning preparations went relatively smoothly. Dirty plates went into the sink, Miguel brushed his teeth and dragged a comb through his hair, and the boy’s backpack was collected. One last glance around the apartment and they were out the door.

Héctor would be the first person to admit that their apartment building wasn’t the greatest. It was an older structure from the days when there were slightly different safety regulations, being forcibly dragged into the modern era in uneven measures. There was no elevator, meaning that he had to climb several stories of narrow and steep stairs daily in a rather hot stairwell. There were chips in some of the yellow tiles on the kitchen counter and the grout was stained by the years. The water pressure occasionally surrendered entirely and left them with a weak dribble. And any laundry needed to be carried down from the fifth floor all the down the infinite stairs to the laundry room in the basement.

But the wi-fi turned out to be shockingly reliable, it being one of the modern features forced into the old building along with the numerous television stations available. And while the water pressure had its bad days, the water heater was larger than expected. The bathtub was a decent size even if Héctor stuck to showers. And Chicharrón kept everything working, hobbling up and down the countless stairs with his toolkit even as he complained gruffly. But most importantly, the rent was reasonable and it was within walking distance of both the _primaria_ that Miguel would be attending and the _secundaria_ where Héctor served as the music teacher.

In the end, the perks outweighed the issues. But for most people, there were better options. They would look for nicer places to live. It wasn’t the worst apartment building in the city and the neighborhood wasn’t dangerous, but people rarely moved in.

So when Héctor and Miguel encountered someone coming up the narrow stairwell with a stack of boxes, it was a surprise. Not to mention a rather large obstacle trapping them near the third floor. People could get by each other on the stairs normally, though you might end up pressed against the metal handrails while squeezing past if there was a large enough group. But with the large boxes, there would be no way around.

“Moving in?” he asked, as if there could be any other explanation. “Señor López’s old apartment on the fourth floor?”

Shifting the burden in their arms, the nearly-concealed person behind the boxes said, “ _Sí._ ”

Héctor blinked in surprise at the voice. Not only was the speaker a woman, something that the boxes hid quite effectively, but her voice was beautiful. Melodic. He couldn’t explain why, but something warm in his chest fluttered in response.

“Would…” His voice failed for a second before he coughed and tried again. “Would you like some help with that?”

“We’re fine,” she said shortly.

_We?_

Héctor looked below the tall stack of boxes. Now he could glimpse the lower half of a purple dress. And clinging to the fabric with one hand and a doll with the other, was the most adorable little girl that he could ever remember seeing. Her hair in twin braids and no more than four or five years old, she peered shyly from behind the woman.

“I can see you already have a helper,” said Héctor, kneeling down briefly to give the little girl a smile. She grinned before burying her face in the woman’s dress with a giggle. “But Ernesto and I nearly fell and cracked our skulls open half a dozen times trying to wrestle a couple mattresses and the couch up the stairs. This stairwell is a death trap.”

“I hired someone to move the larger pieces. I can handle the rest.” The woman took another step, trying to work her way past them. “Now, if you excuse me, my daughter and I have a long day ahead of us.”

Straightening up and taking a few steps back, Héctor said, “At least allow me to get the door to your floor. Your hands _are_ full at the moment and Tía Elena would have my head if I didn’t.”

“She would,” said Miguel with a nod.

“Fine,” she said, shifting her grip on the boxes. “You can get the door.”

Héctor practically ran back up the last few steps and yanked open the heavy door with a loud _creak_ , revealing the hallway of the fourth floor. Each floor of the building, with the exception of the ground floor and the basement, held two apartments. One apartment on either side of the hallway. From what he remembered, Señor López’s old apartment would be on the east side of the building.

“Miguel, could you see if the door on the left is unlocked and open it for them?” he asked. “So they can get into their apartment?”

The boy gave a quick nod and scurried to obey. Héctor waited as the woman and her daughter made it the rest of the way up the narrow stairs. Part of him still wanted to reach out and take one of the boxes from her tall stack, but he knew better than to push. That’s how people ended up with Tía Elena’s _chancla_ smacking the side of their head.

He caught a glimpse of her face as she and the girl moved past him. And even that brief glimpse stole his breath away and left his heart pounding in his ears. Her warm eyes… Her soft lips… Her smooth and yet strong features… Her dark hair twisted into a bun with ribbons…

_Ay, look at her. She had to be a dream. Though there is no way I’m capable of dreaming up someone like her._

Héctor struggled to start breathing again as she walked by, not even looking at him. If he thought her _voice_ was beautiful, her face was beyond words. He never thought that he was shallow, but one look and Héctor found himself completely ensnared by her. And he didn’t want to break free. It was completely insane. He didn’t even _know_ her.

But Héctor desperately wanted the chance.

“I’m Héctor,” he said. “And this is my _primo_ , Miguel. I’m sure you’ll meet my friend, Ernesto, eventually. We live upstairs.”

“That’s nice,” said the woman, her words both distracted and short. “Imelda.”

“I’m Coco,” the little girl greeted shyly.

Waving, Miguel said, “ _Hola,_ Coco.” Then, once the new arrivals stepped into the apartment with their boxes, Miguel said, “Tío Héctor? We should probably get going. We’re going to be late.”

Héctor’s eyes widened. First day of the school year. Right. Being late would not be the best start. As much as he wanted to find out more about his beautiful new neighbor and her young daughter, he needed to get Miguel to school and he had his morning classes to teach.

“ _Espérame_ , Chamaco,” he said, gesturing at the boy. “And good luck with the move, Doña Imelda.”

Grabbing Miguel’s hand, Héctor took off running. The pair scurried down the stairwell as quickly as he could manage without the risk of tripping. And they didn’t slow down as they hit the sidewalk outside.

 

* * *

 

The pair of muscular men dropped the couch in the middle of the room, the final large piece of furniture. Imelda gave them a brief thanks and paid them for their work, grateful for their efforts and grateful to see them leave. She would have preferred to have her brothers move the furniture up the stairs, but Oscar and Felipe were in school. They were studying engineering, both of them smart enough to earn their way into one of the better colleges. Though Imelda sometimes marveled at how smart they could be while lacking in common sense when it came to safety at times. But regardless, she couldn’t pull them away from their studies just to help carry a few things.

Imelda could handle this on her own. She could take care of her daughter and rebuild without help.

Taking a moment to survey the piles of boxes, the cheap furniture she’d bought or borrowed to replace the nicer pieces sold to cover the debts that _he_ left behind, and the empty walls, Imelda tiredly slumped onto the couch cushion. She sighed tiredly as she rubbed her neck, trying to massage out the aches from her muscles. After a moment, Coco scrambled onto her lap.

“What do you think so far, _mija_?” she said quietly, wrapping an arm around her daughter in a brief hug.

“Lots of stairs,” said Coco.

“There are. And we have to go up and down those stairs when we do laundry. You’ll have to be careful. No playing on the stairs,” she said. “And the kitchen and living room are the same room now. That’s a little different too.”

“ _Sí_. And it’s yellow. Our house has an orange kitchen.”

Imelda sighed tiredly, brushing back her daughter’s braids. She’d tried to explain this a few times, but Coco didn’t seem to understand. Or perhaps she didn’t want to understand.

“This _is_ our house now. We don’t live in the old one anymore. It’s different, but this place isn’t bad. A little smaller, but not too small. We’ll get your room fixed up. And once we get your bed put together, put your clothes and toys away, and maybe get some curtains later, you might even like it better than your old one.”

“But what about Papá? What if he can’t find us here?”

Imelda bit back her anger and shoved it down. She wasn’t mad at Coco for her innocent question. No, not her wonderful daughter. Her anger was reserved for _that man_.

And perhaps some anger for herself. After all, she was the one who fell for him in the first place.

José was charming once. He was handsome and seemed to care about her. He claimed to love her and Imelda believed him. But no matter what he said or did when they were younger, no matter how much her family liked him or how happy he seemed with her, that love must have been a lie. Or perhaps it faded, too limited and conditional to withstand the test of time.

Honestly, she wasn’t certain when things began to change and she hated how even now she couldn’t look back to see the early signs. Her pregnancy with Coco had been a rough one. The delivery, and the immediate aftermath, was even more so. Perhaps she’d been too distracted by everything to see the signs. Or perhaps the birth was the catalyst.

He grew distant gradually over the first few months of Coco’s life, spending more and more time out of the house. He seemed to pull away even as Imelda reached out to him. And then one day, José mentioned a possible new job in a neighboring town and that he would be gone for a week to see if it worked out. She wasn’t happy about it, but it made sense and a little more money would help with their growing baby.

One week became two weeks. And then a month. And then several months. At first, he called occasionally with an excuse or a reassurance that it wouldn’t be too much longer. All lies. He sent money once. But only once.

And eventually she realized the truth. She denied it for as long as possible, telling Coco that her papá would be home soon and that he loved them. Imelda believed those lies for far too long. But eventually enough time passed without a word from him that she couldn’t pretend any longer.

When enough time passed, Imelda marched into a courtroom and demanded a divorce. Without José there, she could only ask for a contentious divorce. A long and messy process that consumed what little funds she managed to earn through various temporary jobs. But with him gone for two years and a complete abandonment of their home during that time, she had plenty of grounds for a divorce.

He didn’t even fight it when the courts managed to track José down. After all those wasted nights alone trying to believe the best of the man she’d once loved, all that money and effort to claw her way through the legalities, and all those innocent questions about a man in a _foto_ that Coco couldn’t remember, José agreed to the divorce without complaint or any attempt to see his family a final time. It was almost casual how easily he ended things. As if the divorce of the woman that he once claimed to love with all his heart was a dull chore that slipped his mind.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about Imelda nor Coco. They didn’t matter to him anymore. Perhaps they never did.

In the end, the marriage was severed. It took a little over a year, but it was done. And José vanished without a trace as soon as the ink dried on the documents. The courts couldn’t even track him down a second time when he failed to pay the ordered child support. Nor could the people wanting to collect his debts, causing them to descend on Imelda instead. He disappeared and left it all on her since they _were_ married at the time his debts were established. Her funds quickly dried up.

Imelda didn’t have much after that. Just her daughter and her brothers, both of them away at school. Her parents had passed in the previous few years, her mamá from illness and her papá in an accident. But she wouldn’t let that man’s legacy continue to ruin their lives.

She didn’t need José. She didn’t need anyone. She could take care of everything on her own.

Moving to a new city was the best option for Imelda and her daughter. She sold what she could, gathering what money she could scrounge together. Then Imelda accepted the offer from her childhood friend, Ceci, to work in her shop. Perhaps it wasn’t what some people would decide to do, but it seemed right. A fresh start for both of them.

But Coco didn’t understand why they left. Imelda did her best to shield her daughter from the entire legal mess that dragged out for far too long and devoured their money. She didn’t understand what that man did, how he abandoned them and all his promises to come home were lies. She believed what Imelda used to tell her, back when the woman still held onto delusional hope. She thought her papá was a good man, someone she wanted to meet since she didn’t remember his presence from when she was a baby. And so the questions continued.

“He’s not coming here, _mija_ ,” said Imelda quietly. “Remember when we talked about how me and your papá aren’t married anymore? That means that he won’t come to see us here. But he didn’t come to see us before either, right? We were fine on our own and we’ll be fine now.”

Coco flopped back dramatically, sprawling across Imelda’s lap and the couch. The annoyed pout on her face left Imelda struggling not to smile. She leaned down and planted a small kiss on Coco’s head. The girl’s grumpiness dissolved into giggles.

“You’ll see, _mija_. This will be a good place for us. And I’ve got you. We don’t need him around. We’ll be happy here,” said Imelda gently. “It isn’t perfect, but we’ll make it into our home.”

Coco was quiet for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on her face. Eventually, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

“Yellow is pretty too. Maybe… maybe even prettier than an orange kitchen.”

Smiling, Imelda asked, “Really? Prettier than orange? But certainly not prettier than pink, is it? Maybe they should have painted the whole building pink. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“And people here are nice,” she continued, grinning brightly.

“You liked the boy earlier? Miguel?”

Coco nodded eagerly and said, “He was nice. And so was the man. He was really nice and really tall.”

“Is that right?”

Imelda didn’t actually get to see the man who helped with the door, though he sounded vaguely nice when he spoke. She’d been too busy with the boxes. And perhaps not in the friendliest of moods.

Well, it didn’t matter. While she and Coco might glimpse their neighbors in passing, she doubted she would see much of them. Between her new job with Ceci and taking care of her daughter, Imelda wouldn’t have much time for socializing with whoever lived the next floor up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A prima vista" means literally "at first sight," but it is a musical term that means to play a song for the first time after only sight reading the sheet music. No previous practicing or attempts at the song. I thought it would be an appropriate chapter title since a certain someone is experience a bit of love "at first sight."


	2. Largo

Héctor doodled absently along the margins of his gradebook, enjoying his free time between classes. He’d managed to get Miguel to school on time, albeit barely. He even managed to have a quiet word to his teacher to keep an eye on the boy. But that left Héctor late to teach his first class. His students thankfully didn’t seem to mind though and didn’t speak a word about his lateness. Nor about his distracted state.

True, the first day of school tended to be relaxed and casual. But most teachers probably didn’t spend the entire morning daydreaming about a beautiful young woman carrying boxes up the stairs. He barely managed to get through explaining the curriculum to his students without stumbling over the words.

He abruptly noticed that his random sketching had produced a rather nice likeness of Imelda. Héctor shook his head sharply, trying to clear his thoughts. He was acting _un poco loco_. He couldn’t be _this_ infatuated with someone that he barely knew. Ernesto would laugh his head off if he realized.

It wasn’t like there was any chance of something developing either. Imelda undoubtedly had a handsome husband to go with her adorable daughter. Even if Héctor barely knew her, he knew that she didn’t seem like the type of woman who would cheat. She wouldn’t have the time or temperament for such clandestine activities when she didn’t even have the patience to accept an offer to help move boxes. And anyway, Héctor wouldn’t want to be involved in ripping a family apart.

And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

A smile kept sliding across his face. The memory of that brief glimpse swirled continuously through his mind. Warmth kept washing over him at the thought of her. She was intriguing and tantalizing in ways that he couldn’t put into words. And crafting words was a talent of his, finding the proper phrases to put into his songs. He needed to see her again. He wanted to get to know Imelda better.

 _Ay_ , he could only imagine her smile. If that tiny look on her face left him awash with warmth, her smile would set him aflame.

A bell rang overhead, startling Héctor out of his distracted musings. Right. His break was over. His next class of students would be showing up soon. Maybe he would be able to focus on the curriculum this time.

He closed the gradebook and hide the sketches from sight. Then he stood up and smiled as a couple students wandered in.

 

* * *

 

Coco carefully positioned her doll against her pillow. With her pink comforter and soft pillows, she’d finished being helpful by making her bed after Mamá put the metal frame together.

Well, maybe. Coco frowned as she looked closer. The blankets might be a _little_ crooked and uneven. Maybe Mamá could help her fix it later.

Coco was trying to help. She unpacked her toys. She put away her clothes in her small dresser since she couldn’t reach high enough to hang them in the closet. And she tried to make her bed. Mamá was so busy fixing up the rest of the house, so she needed Coco to be a big girl and help.

There were lots and lots of boxes. All the boxes with all their things.

She didn’t know why they had to leave their house though. She missed her old room. She missed their orange kitchen, the pretty pink flowers outside, and the blue tile in the bathroom. Mamá’s room was too far away and the floors were the wrong color. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _home_.

But Mamá liked it. She’d been sad and mad for a long time, even when she tried to pretend that she wasn’t. And Mamá said they could be happy here. Coco wanted Mamá to be happy. That’s why she drew Mamá so many pretty pictures. And that’s why Coco was going to be a big help. If Mamá liked the house, even if it was wrong and different, then Coco would try to like it too. That way Mamá would be happy.

It wouldn’t be that bad. She had Mamá, her doll, and a comfy bed that she _wasn’t_ allowed to jump on. Maybe after Coco covered the walls with drawings, she would like it better.

And maybe Mamá was wrong and Papá would come see them. Mamá used to tell all sorts of stories about him and papás were supposed to be good, loving, and fun. Coco wanted that. Maybe Papá would come and he would like the house too. He would play with her, draw pictures, sing songs, tell stories, and lots of fun stuff. That’s what papás were supposed to do. Then he would stay and Mamá would be happy. And everyone would be happy.

But until then, Coco would be a good girl and help out Mamá. And she would try to like the house, even if it wasn’t the right one.

She would be happy, just like Mamá said. And maybe Mamá would be happy too.

 

* * *

 

Miguel swung his feet as he watched the clock tick forward, waiting to escape his desk. School was boring enough already, but today was just plain awful. He didn’t know anyone. He used to have a few boys that he played _fútbol_ and talk about cartoons with, even if he didn’t have a best friend. But at least he knew everyone that he went to school with in Santa Cecilia. All his new classmates were strangers. And no one wanted to be friends with the new kid.

And even though Miguel kept staring at the clock, he doubted things would be any better once class ended. He wouldn’t be walking home with Rosa and Abel. He wouldn’t be going back to the familiar workshop, filled with the smell of leather and the sounds of people crafting shoes. And Mamá and Papá wouldn’t be waiting there, eager to hear about his day.

Miguel blinked rapidly against the burning sensation in his eyes. He _wasn’t_ a baby. He wouldn’t start crying in class. He couldn’t help it when he awoke from nightmares in tears and Tío Héctor held him close while humming songs and whispering reassuring words. He couldn’t help what he did in his sleep. But Miguel _refused_ to cry in school just because he missed his parents.

He rubbed his arm against his face, ensuring that no tears had escaped. He missed his parents and the rest of his family. He missed his old room, his old house, and his old school. He liked Tío Héctor, but he really missed having something familiar.

But Papá and Mamá apparently wanted Tío Héctor to take care of him if something bad happened. All the adults discussed and argued over it, though they tried to keep Miguel from hearing. Everyone kept saying that Tío Berto and Tía Carmen or Abuelita and Papá Franco would be better suited since they had experience. They said Tía Gloria would also be a good choice. Abuelita even said that taking care of Miguel would be too much pressure to put on him. But Tía Carmen was pregnant again, so they would have a new baby to take care of soon. And his parents _did_ pick Tío Héctor and put it in writing.

And no matter what anyone might say or how much Miguel missed more familiar surroundings, Tío Héctor was doing his best. Miguel could see it. And he wasn’t Papá, but he was nice, he had the coolest roommate, and he didn’t say anything about the nightmares or the times the boy crawled into his bed like a little kid. Tío Héctor didn’t try to make him talk about how he felt. He didn’t push Miguel to explain things that he couldn’t even put into words inside his own head.

Even if Miguel wasn’t certain of anything else, he knew Tío Berto’s whispered words were wrong. Tío Héctor _could_ be trusted with a child. He wasn’t “someone who could barely take care of himself without help,” whatever _that_ meant.

Miguel _liked_ Tío Héctor. He just missed how things were supposed to be.

He dropped his head on his desk. He hated this. His head felt all muddled, he was tired, and he just wanted out of there. Miguel wanted to leave all day. By lunch, he’d considered sneaking out. He could have slipped over to the _secundaria_ , tracked down Tío Héctor’s classroom, and hid there while his _tío_ taught music. It couldn’t be that hard to find him. The idea seemed so tempting. But Miguel stayed for the rest of the day, bored and frustrated by the lessons. Now he was just counting down the minutes.

“Miguel, have you finished the math problems on the board?”

Raising his head from the desk, he grumbled, “Almost, Profe Adriana.”

He returned to his previous efforts as she resumed her casual pacing around the room, the teacher observing their work. Miguel bit his lower lip as he considered the numbers. Why was math so boring?

If they wanted to hear a song or to have someone demonstrate that tricky fingering from Ernesto’s video three months ago, Miguel would be the first to volunteer. Practicing the guitar by watching those videos left him confident when it came to music. Or… mostly confident. Maybe not confident enough for an actual performance.

But music was fun. Math was completely boring. And who really needed to know so much math? No one liked math.

On the other hand, he wasn’t going to be able to escape math any time soon. After a little studying, Miguel scribbled down an answer. And he was even relatively certain the answer was the right one. But the best part, however, was that he’d finished the final problem on the board.

Just in time too, the bell abruptly ringing to signal the end of the day. Chaos erupted as the students scrambled into action, gathering up backpacks and bolting for the exit. And even if it was a new school for Miguel, some things were universal. No one wanted to linger any longer than necessary. They had better things to do than hang around the classroom when they could go home, play _fútbol_ , watch cartoons, or almost _anything_ other than math.

“Miguel?”

Looking up from his attempts to shove his papers into his backpack, he asked, “Yes, Profe Adriana?”

“Profe Héctor asked me to remind you to meet him at the front of the school,” she said. “He might be a while finishing up.”

“The _secundaria_ is right next to the _primaria_. I can walk over there.”

“I know, but he probably wants to keep things simple for your first day. There’s a bench near the front door where you can wait for him.”

Miguel nodded, but he had already decided against that plan. He wasn’t a little kid and he didn’t need help walking over to the other school. And sitting on a bench outside sounded boring. He really didn’t want to hang around forever. The alternative sounded a lot better. Seeing the different instruments that the older students played would be nice. Tío Héctor taught them how to play and even if Miguel hadn’t heard him play yet, Miguel knew that his _tío’s_ classroom would be filled with instruments and music. He would probably learn something there even if Héctor wasn’t famous on the internet like his roommate, Ernesto de la Cruz.

So while Miguel slipped his backpack on and followed the rest of the students out of the building, he bypassed the waiting bench outside. Shoulders hunched and head bowed, he moved through the crowds of rushing older students as if he belonged. He’d learned years ago that as long as he acted like he belonged and that he knew what he was doing, he could get away with a lot before anyone questioned him. Miguel adopted that façade of confidence to slip into the _secundaria_.

Once inside, occasionally being jostled by the older students, Miguel did realize that there was a slight problem with his plan. He barely knew his way around the _primaria_ after one day. He had no idea where anything in the _secundaria_ might be. All he could see was hallways and doors to nearly identical rooms. The numbers or even the occasional posted teacher’s name didn’t clarify anything. After a few minutes of wandering, Miguel began to reconsider the whole “wait on the bench” option…

No way. He wasn’t going back to the bench like a little kid.

He was smart. He could figure this out. There had to be a logical way to find Tío Héctor’s classroom. He could ask someone for directions or…

Something soft, slow, and beautiful wove through the halls and filled his ears. A simple tune, but one that coaxed a smile to his face. He recognized the instrument as a guitar. And music meant the music teacher. Miguel followed the sounds through the building.

It was beautiful and yet drastically different than what Ernesto de la Cruz tended to play on his videos. Those were loud, confident, and meant to show off. This was warm, gentle, and felt deeper. The music seemed to wrap around him and flowed through him. Miguel felt himself swaying as he walked. His fingers itched to try and mimic the sound himself.

He reached a door just as the simple song came to an end. Miguel peered inside. The back wall was covered in tall cabinets, each one labeled with a different instrument. The rest of the room was filled with chairs arranged in a half circle around a podium. On one side were the two remaining people. An older boy sat in a chair, resting a violin on his lap as he peered at the sheet music on the stand. And beside him was Tío Héctor with a guitar in his hands, pointing at the sheet music as he spoke to the student.

“Now try it again, Arturo,” said Héctor. “Nice and slow. Pay attention to each note as we go. Hit each one before moving on to the next. Don’t rush through the song. Play it largo.”

Taking a deep breath, the student brought the violin up to the correct position. Tapping his foot and briefly mouthing the words of a countdown, he drew the bow across the strings. Tío Héctor joined in, strumming gently and matching Arturo’s hesitant playing. The two of them slowly worked their way through the song again, but with the violin setting the pace and leading the song. Miguel could tell that the older boy was still learning, but he was pretty good. But Tío Héctor…

Miguel didn’t know he could play like _that_.

As the duet came to a close, Tío Héctor set the guitar down and said, “Very nicely done. I told you that you’d get it.”

“ _Gracias_ , Profe Héctor,” said Arturo with a relieved smile.

As the older boy began putting his instrument in its case, Héctor continued, “You can play the song, Arturo. You just tend to get ahead of yourself and start stumbling over the notes. We’ll work on that.”

Arturo nodded before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and picking up his violin case. He stepped out the door, pausing for a moment when he spotted Miguel lurking there. He gave Miguel a short nod and smile, but he didn’t linger any longer. The older boy headed down the hallway and out of sight.

Miguel waited a few minutes as he watched Tío Héctor straighten up the music stands and stack the chairs. He was even humming cheerfully as he worked. But as Tío Héctor seemed to finish, he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. There was something that he desperately needed to ask after that performance.

“Can you teach me to play like that?”

Tío Héctor startled, nearly tripping over the closest stack of chairs and knocking over one of the music stands. Miguel cringed at the series of crashes, regretting how his outburst startled his _tío_. He didn’t expect that much chaos. But Tío Héctor eventually untangled himself from the mess and regained his footing.

“Miguel, I thought I told you to wait outside your school,” said Héctor, trying to reclaim a hint of his lost dignity and authority.

He shrugged and said, “That’s boring. And why didn’t you tell me you could play like _that_? It was amazing.”

“I’m a music teacher. How did you _expect_ me to play? And what did you think me and Ernesto did growing up, Chamaco? We played music together,” said Héctor. “Taught him everything he knows.”

“ _No manches_ ,” he said.

“You know that song he plays at the start of his longer videos or his livestreams?”

“The World Es Mi Familia?”

Miguel knew exactly which song his _tío_ must have meant. While many of the songs that Ernesto tended to perform were covers and remixes of famous songs, a few were original pieces of music. Those tended to be more popular with his fans, at least from what Miguel read in the comments. People would pay money to download copies or to use them in other videos. And one of his signature songs that appeared in all the longer videos, some people describing it as his standard opening number, was “The World Es Mi Familia.”

Miguel remembered how proud that he was when he learned to play it.

“I wrote it for Ernesto,” said Héctor. “I also do a lot of the editing on the computer before he posts his videos.”

“ _You_ wrote it?”

“ _Sí_.  I don’t know why that surprises you. It’s in the description below the videos.”

“No one ever scrolls down to click and read that stuff. And if you help him so much, then why aren’t you in the videos? You could play songs and everything with him.”

Picking up the guitar and putting it back in its case, Héctor said, “I _do_ play with him for our live performances during the summer and school breaks. But all that internet stuff? Performing like a trained monkey for strangers half a world away? _Bleagh_.” He made a disgusted face that nearly startled a laugh out of Miguel. “No thanks.”

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at his _tío’s_ weirdness, Miguel asked again, “So, can you at least teach me how to play like _that_?”

He had hoped that maybe his new school would be different than his old one when it came to music, but a few quick questions squashed that idea. Only the older kids at the _primaria_ were taught how to play an instrument. And even then, it was mostly squawking out simple tunes on recorders. That wasn’t worth waiting until he was ten. Miguel wanted to play real music like the kids at the _secundaria_. He already knew some and Tío Héctor could explain the rest.

Like what the dots and lines and symbols on the sheet music meant.

Sighing tiredly, Tío Héctor ran a hand through his hair as he stared at Miguel. Neither of them said a word. Miguel just stared up at him with his most pleading expression. He didn’t even know how well it might work on him. Unlike his long experience with most of his family, Miguel hadn’t had time to try out most of his begging tactics on the man. He could be immune for all Miguel knew. But Tío Héctor seemed to find what he was searching for because he slowly nodded.

“Okay, okay,” said Héctor. “You keep up on your schoolwork, keep your grades up, and actually _listen_ when I tell you to go or stay somewhere… and I’ll teach you the same material as the rest of my students. It’ll be hard work though.”

Miguel stared for a moment before launching himself at the man, hugging tightly and laughing excitedly. Enthusiastic agreement and thanks tumbled out of his mouth. He desperately wanted this.

Learning music wasn’t like learning math. It wasn’t dull and tedious. It was something fun, exciting, and wonderful. It made sense. He liked learning how to play the guitar, how it sounded and felt. He loved music and all the work he put into learning was always worth it. Miguel would happily work as hard as necessary.

He wanted this so badly and now he would someone who would really teach him. Not just videos, but a real person.

“It’s a deal, Tío Héctor,” he said, finally pulling out of the impulsive hug.

Giving him a warm smile, Tío Héctor stepped away briefly to slip the instrument case into the cabinets with the rest of the school’s instruments. Then he scooped up his bag and joined Miguel at the doorway. Tío Héctor even took a moment to ruffle his hair, earning a chuckle.

But before the pair could head out, voices came echoing down the hall. And Miguel saw Tío Héctor scowl and slump his shoulders in response to the sound. His entire posture quickly filled with frustration.

Miguel spotted a small cluster of teachers approaching them down the hallway. Gossiping and laughing together, they reminded him of a bunch of excited kids after a _fútbol_ game. And it didn’t take long to identify the leader of the pack. With a short beard, a thin mustache, and what was probably meant to be a fashionable hat and scarf combo, the man seemed to laugh the loudest in the chatting group of teachers.

“Hey,” said the man as he spotted the pair. “There you are. We figured you’d already run off.”

“Hey there, Gustavo,” muttered Héctor without a shred of enthusiasm. Clearly trying to scrape together a hint of his manners, he gestured at Miguel and said, “This is my _primo_ and godson, Miguel. He moved in with me and Ernesto recently. He’s in Profe Adriana’s class at the _primaria_.”

“You’ll like her class. I mean, she isn’t up to _my_ level, but she’s decent.” Straightening his posture and puffing out his chest a little some of the birds that Miguel had seen, Gustavo said, “Granted, teaching kids at your age isn’t as challenging as what I expect of _my_ students. She has it easy in comparison.”

“He teaches history,” said Héctor evenly.

“And my classes have the best grades in the school for a reason. I mean, I could have taken over the music department years ago and really made something special out of it, but I couldn’t take the time away from students. They deserve my full attention.”

“Tío Héctor is a great music teacher,” said Miguel, glaring up at the man. “He can also write music and play the guitar. I heard him. He’s amazing.”

Scoffing slightly, Gustavo said, “Yeah, but anyone can play guitar. That’s easy. Mastering instruments like the violin takes _skill_.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” interrupted one of the other teachers, “we were heading out to celebrate surviving the first day. You know. A little drinking, a little dancing… You should come with us, Héctor. It’ll be fun.”

Shaking his head, Héctor said, “ _No, gracias_. It was a nice offer though.”

“Too good to hang out with us?” said Gustavo. “I know we’re not famous internet celebrities like that ‘roommate’ of yours…”

“It doesn’t matter who’s asking. Even if it was Ernesto offering me a shot of tequila, I’d still turn it down. I’m just not much of a drinker.” Placing a hand on Miguel’s shoulder, Héctor said, “Besides, I need to get the kid home. Have fun.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” called Gustavo as the pair turned around to leave, his voice gaining a taunting edge, “ _Profe Chorizo_.”

Miguel saw Tío Héctor sigh and roll his eyes in response. And while Profe Gustavo laughed like he’d said the funniest thing ever, the other teachers didn’t join in. Apparently whatever joke that he was making was already getting old with them.

“ _Chorizo_?” asked Miguel quietly as they headed down the hall.

“I ate some bad _chorizo_ almost a year ago and got sick. One case of food poisoning left me laid up for a couple days and I’ve _still_ not heard the end of it.” Shaking his head tiredly, he muttered, “Self-important _jerk_.”

“But that doesn’t sound funny. You were sick. Why does Profe Gustavo think its funny to call you ‘Chorizo’?”

For some reason, Tío Héctor’s ears seemed redder than a moment before. He coughed awkwardly while his eyes dropped to the floor at Miguel’s rather innocuous question. And he couldn’t seem to manage to choke out a word until they made it outside the building.

“Don’t worry about it, Chamaco. It’s a bad joke anyway.”

Miguel narrowed his eyes and asked, “Is this one of those things that no one will explain until I’m older?”

“ _Sí_. Like when you’re twenty. Or forty.” Tío Héctor paused a moment before giving Miguel a stern look. “And don’t try asking Ernesto. Because he’ll explain and _neither_ of us will enjoy hearing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Largo" means to play the music broadly. Or rather, play it slowly with the notes drawn out. It is a way of describing the tempo of the piece. And if you notice, it is how Héctor tells his student to play the song in this chapter.


	3. Dolcissimo

“So how did you like your first day, Chamaco?”

“Fine. Math was boring though,” said Miguel, practically bouncing next to Héctor. “But you’re really going to teach me to play cool stuff?”

Smiling, Héctor said, “First we’ll work on seeing what you know already and what you don’t. That’ll give me an idea where to start. And we’ll be working a lot on fundamentals. You need a solid foundation to play anything complicated and interesting.”

Nothing that he’d said seemed to discourage the boy. If anything, Miguel looked excited by the prospect of hard work. The kid was simply happy to have some real direction for learning music.

Héctor might be fumbling blindly when it came to the whole guardian thing, but teaching music was well within his expertise.

“But I was asking about school,” he continued. “Did you make any friends?”

Miguel shrugged as they paused on the sidewalk, waiting for the street to clear. It could sometimes take a while for traffic to offer them a chance. The city was alive with activity at that time of the day.

Cars and pedestrians moved in a constant and lazy pace, congestion choking travel. Shops displayed their merchandise behind windows and on the sidewalk in equal measure, drawing the eye with the bright colors. Vendors sold food to hungry customers, the delicious smells and the sounds of sizzling joining the general chaos of the busy afternoon. There was always so much to see, smell, hear, and feel. There was so much _life_ there. So much life, so much energy, and so much potential.

Héctor loved hearing and feeling the beat that seemed to pulse through the city. It always felt inspiring.

“I don’t know, Tío Héctor. I mean, Tómas talked about _fútbol_ and he seemed nice. But I don’t really know any of them.” Miguel looked back up at Héctor. “I don’t know. What about you? Do you like _fútbol_?”

“I watched it occasionally, but I’ve never played. Tía Elena wouldn’t let me while I was growing up,” he admitted. A gap in the traffic opened up and they scurried across the street before Héctor continued his explanation. “She thought I’d get hurt if I tried.”

“That’s awful,” said Miguel, screwing up his face as if not playing _fútbol_ was absolute torture.

Héctor shrugged and said, “To be fair, I got hurt a lot as a kid from falling and such. Scrapes, bruises, and things like that. So she was probably right to worry. Not to mention the time I fell out of a tree and broke a tooth…”

“You _broke_ a _tooth_?”

“Not my finest hour,” he admitted, ducking his head. Climbing that tree as a young child would have been dumb enough, but at _fourteen_ … “I was trying to prove a point… and failed. Badly. Even Tía Victoria wasn’t impressed with me that day.” Héctor gestured at a tooth as he gave a quick smile. “Had to get it replaced with a fake, but it looks completely normal. _Muy guapo, no?_ ”

Miguel didn’t immediately respond to that, merely giving him the occasional weird look out of the corner of his eye. Héctor tried not to take it personal. Instead, he started craning his neck to spot what vendors that they were close to at the moment.

He was no better at cooking dinner than he was at making breakfast. Asking him to cook was practically begging for a disaster. Héctor would be the first to admit it. Otherwise the whole _chorizo_ incident would have never happened. Most of his meals tended to be grabbed from street vendors or begged from generous neighbors who took pity on the “poor, skinny young man.” There were plenty of substitute _tías_ in the building who loved nurturing someone and were ready to help. Tía Chelo on the second floor always sent him home with plenty of leftovers, for example. He even had some from the night before still resting in the refrigerator.

So the question was if dinner would be homecooked meals gained via puppy-dog eyes or something grabbed on the way back to the apartment building. On the one hand, getting food from one of the nurturing neighbors would probably be healthier and it was part of Héctor’s new responsibilities to give Miguel a balanced diet. On the other hand, he was already hungry and the cooking food smelled delicious.

Spotting one particular vendor that he recognized, the decision was instantly made. Héctor dragged the boy over eagerly. They could grab a snack now and eat a proper meal later. Miguel was a growing boy, right? He could use the extra food.

That excuse was totally reasonable, right?

“What are we doing?” asked Miguel.

Grinning, Héctor said, “Picking up some _chapulines_. This guy makes the best in the entire city. You’ll love them.”

 

* * *

 

Crunching on the last bit of the snack as they entered the apartment building, Miguel had to admit that Tío Héctor was right. They were delicious. Too bad you could only get _chapulines_ at certain times of the year.

The front lobby of the building wasn’t that impressive. There were worn, red, stone tile across floor that might be smooth enough to kick a _fútbol_ around and offered enough space for maybe a couple people to play an improvised game. The rest of the space was taken up by a wall covered in small boxes for each apartment’s mail, a couple benches, and a single apartment for the building manager. But unlike the stairwell that seemed to trap heat, the front lobby remained pretty cool while the ceiling fan turned lazily overhead.

“How much homework do you have, Chamaco?” asked Tío Héctor.

“None.” Miguel gave him an incredulous look. “Teachers don’t give much work on the first day. It’s like a rule or something.”

“Is it now?” he asked teasingly. “What kind of rule is that?”

“A _good_ one.”

Tío Héctor laughed and ruffled his hair. Miguel batted away the hand with a scowl, but he was simultaneously struggling not to grin.

“ _Héctor!_ ” barked a gruff voice, startling the pair.

Hobbling towards them with his uneven gait was the short, leathery-skinned, squinting man with thin wispy hair and a perpetually-grumpy expression. The building manager, who went exclusively by the odd name “Chicharrón,” intimidated Miguel from the moment he saw him. He wasn’t _scary_ , but the boy couldn’t help the involuntary step back as he charged forward with far more speed than a man missing a leg should be capable of.

“Where’s my money, Héctor?” he growled.

His fingers wrapping around his wrist as he grinned awkwardly, Tío Héctor said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We paid rent last week.” He paused briefly, a thoughtful expression flickering across his face. “At least, I _think_ we did…”

“That’s between you and the owner of the building. I meant money for gas. Remember? You borrowed my van? You asked for a favor and I drove you to that small town a few hours away for a funeral?” Chicharrón gestured towards Miguel. “And I ended up stuck there a few days and we came back with the kid? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Miguel remembered. Stuck in the thick gray mental fog, he could barely acknowledge anyone or anything immediately after the accident. Abuelita, Papá Franco, his _tías_ , his _tíos_ , and his _primos_ tried to comfort him, but it didn’t help. They were hurting too. His head had ached and his chest felt tight. By that point, he’d been too exhausted to cry anymore. Nothing would ever seem right again.

But then a half-rusted blue van came screeching in front of the property as quickly as possible with the pedestrians and bouncing over the cobblestone road in front of the workshop. Tío Héctor then scrambled out of the passenger’s seat. Nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush, he ran over to Abuelita and wrapped her in tight hug. Miguel could count the number of times that he’d seen her crumble and break down on one hand and all of them were from after the car accident. He hated seeing it, seeing someone normally strong and solid abruptly looking so vulnerable. And Miguel had watched her break yet again as she wept into her _sobrino’s_ shoulder while Tío Héctor muttered apologies in a shaking voice.

They’d all lost so much. Miguel lost his parents. Abuelita lost her son and daughter-in-law. And Tío Héctor lost one of the _primos_ that he was raised with. Everyone was hurting.

And as Tío Héctor stood there, his long arms wrapped around Abuelita with his fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, Chicharrón poked his head out of the van window and gave Miguel his first glimpse of the man. His expression might have been a little softer than what was normal for him, but Chicharrón still managed to give off the first impression of being grumpy and unwelcoming.

But even if the man didn’t look thrilled to be there, he and Tío Héctor traveled a long way very quickly in order to be there. And since Miguel now knew that he played with Ernesto de la Cruz during the summer, Tío Héctor must have even skipped out on his final few performances. Everyone came together… because Miguel’s parents were gone.

Miguel shook his head sharply, trying to banish the memories and keep his throat from tightening further. He didn’t want to think about it. Everything about the days of the immediate aftermath _hurt_.

“Cheech,” said Tío Héctor, giving him a beseeching smile, “you know I’ll pay you back. I just don’t have any pesos on me at the moment.” He patted at his pocket theatrically. “And besides, I need to buy a couple things for the kid.”

Frowning in confusion, Miguel asked, “Like what?”

“Like a proper place for you to sleep, Chamaco. We need something more permanent than what we’ve got right now. A fold-out couch or maybe an actual bed.”

“Where would we even put another bed? There’s only two bedrooms. There’s no room.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Tío Héctor said, “We’ll figure _something_ out.”

Watching the pair with a grumpy expression, Chicharrón crossed his arms and shook his head slowly. Even with his permanent scowl, he managed to look a little bemused.

“This is going to end up like my good napkins, isn’t it?” he muttered.

“No, no, nothing like that,” assured Tío Héctor. “I’ll pay you back. And because you might need to wait a _little_ longer, I’ll even make it up to you.” Pausing briefly, he added, “I’ll bring you some food from Tía Chelo. I know you like her _caldo tlalpeño_ and she always sends too much home with me.”

Chicharrón’s expression softened a little, giving the man a gruff and yet indulgent look. Then he shook his head again and let his arms drop back to his side.

“ _Bah_. I don’t know why I put up with you or your roommate with the fancy hair,” Chicharrón grumbled.

“Because you like me best out of everyone in the building,” said Tío Héctor with a grin.

“That’s not saying much,” he muttered before turning around.

Chicharrón managed to hobbled halfway across the front lobby before Tío Héctor took a step forward, raising a hand as he spoke.

“Cheech? Out of curiosity… do you know anything about the people who moved into Señor López’s old apartment?”

“Some woman and her daughter. Imelda… Imelda something. No husband. Don’t know if the kid’s _papá_ is dead, divorced, or if he was just some one-night stand that the woman—”

“ _Cheech_ ,” interrupted Tío Héctor with a desperate hiss. “There are _children_ present.”

“Regardless, it’s none of my business. It’s just the two of them and that’s that. Unless their appliances break, I don’t plan to have anything to do with them,” he finished. Glancing over his shoulder, he added, “And wipe that goofy grin off your stupid face. You look ridiculous.”

Miguel took a quick look and had to agree. Tío Héctor was struggling to smother his grin, but his eyes gave him away. Even biting his lower lip didn’t keep his expression under control.

“Are you okay, Tío Héctor?” asked Miguel slowly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Coughing awkwardly, he said, “ _S-sí_. I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

Goofy smile still fighting to escape and his ears tinged a slight shade of red, Tío Héctor headed towards the door to the stairwell. The door _creaked_ loudly and the trapped heat washed over Miguel. He glanced up at the steep staircase that wove up the various floors. Even if he hadn’t been there long, he was already tired of climbing those stairs every day.

“And why don’t we have an elevator?” muttered Miguel.

Already starting up the steep concrete stairs, Héctor said, “They built this place a while back. And it isn’t that tall of a building. The owner is slowly renovating the place, making it more modern one step at a time. A huge water heater, a good ventilation system, decent wi-fi, and so on. But adding an elevator shaft to the apartment building would take a lot more time and money to do. They’d probably need to construct a whole new chunk to the building, which means inspectors and construction crews. And possibly buying more property to fit it. The whole thing would be a mess and probably raise our rent. I think it might be on the to-do list, but we probably won’t see anything for several years. Until then, we’re stuck with the stairs and Cheech’s complaints about climbing them.”

Miguel blew out a heavy sigh, ruffling his bangs. Well, at least there was one bright side to climbing endless stairs. All the exercise must be good for his leg muscles. Which must be great for playing _fútbol_.

And that thought reminded Miguel of what Tío Héctor told him earlier. He could barely believe that Abuelita wouldn’t let Tío Héctor play _fútbol_ growing up. She was protective but Miguel knew for a fact that Papá had played _fútbol_ some as a kid. There were _fotos_ and everything. Miguel remembered seeing them, Papá blushing as Mamá teased him about how adorable he looked with his missing teeth and skinned knees…

Something ached in his chest as his throat tightened. Miguel blinked rapidly against the way his eyes tried to burn, but he kept moving.

Maybe Abuelita had a good reason to keep Tío Héctor from playing _fútbol_ as a kid. After all, Miguel saw him tripping and stumbling over a bunch of chairs less than an hour ago. With that in mind, Tío Héctor’s explanation made a lot of sense. If he was similarly uncoordinated as a boy, sports would have been a disaster.

Tío Héctor stopped abruptly, nearly causing Miguel to crash right into him. Miguel stumbled briefly as he regained his balance, frowning in confusion. Unless he miscounted in his distracted state, this was not their floor.

Glancing between the door and Tío Héctor, Miguel noticed that the weird expression was back. At full force. Tío Héctor was staring at the door to the rest of the fourth floor, the goofy expression escaping completely. His eyes looked dreamy and distracted, a soft sigh slipped past his lips, and Tío Héctor seemed to be acting exactly like one of those weird guys in the mushy movies when…

 _Oh_.

Miguel’s face scrunched up in disgust. _Bleagh_.

Tío Héctor liked Doña Imelda.

As in _like_ liked.

 _Bleagh_.

Rolling his eyes, Miguel moved past him and continued stomping up the stairs towards their apartment. Why did Tío Héctor have to go all mushy? He was supposed to be cool. He was roommates with _the_ Ernesto de la Cruz, he could play amazing music, and he was a lot of fun. But now Tío Héctor was acting like a dork.

Over a woman he barely met that morning.

 _Bleagh_.

 

* * *

 

“And that’s it for today, _mi familia_ ,” said Ernesto, smiling into the webcam on his laptop. “I hope to see all of you again soon. And remember… When opportunity appears, you must be willing to… seize your moment.”

Giving one final winning smile, Ernesto reached over and turned off the recording. Then he stretched out his arms and back, working out the tightness. No one ever claimed the path to becoming a celebrity was an easy one. Sore and tired muscles were a small price to pay.

Besides, he’d experienced worse. The late nights performing on stage during the summer often left him exhausted and aching in the morning. It was worth it. Every step forward towards their dream was worth it.

Ernesto took a quick look at the recording. He would post it later, after Héctor had a chance to edit the video. While Ernesto had the basic knowledge necessary to do it, Héctor typically handled all the background technical aspects on the channel and the fans could always tell when Ernesto did it instead. Héctor handling all the editing and such was his way of making up for only touring during the summer and not doing anything on camera for the web channel.

Not that Héctor actually _finished_ their tour that summer…

Ernesto couldn’t completely blame Héctor for leaving early. Family emergencies couldn’t exactly be planned and they’d at least finished the major scheduled performances by that point, so it wasn’t too bad. Ernesto was a good enough friend to finish the summer alone. It wasn’t the same, but it was a temporary bump on the road to fame.

Because they _would_ be famous someday. Both of them. And not just internet famous, but also famous for their music. They were already selling copies of their songs online. It was only a matter of time. They were the perfect team. Their skills and talents complimented each other. They needed each other to achieve their dream.

Héctor couldn’t network and make business connections, arranging performances for them. He couldn’t do all the tricks to generate ad revenue. And Héctor certainly didn’t like getting involved with the internet videos. Not a single note would come from him once Héctor was placed in front of a camera. He wouldn’t even mumble his way through vlogs, challenges, or reaction videos. And Héctor _certainly_ couldn’t do any Let’s Play videos by playing different video games for their fans. That would be nothing short of a disaster. All of those things fell under Ernesto’s expertise, along with a charismatic smile that could win over any man or woman instantly. But Héctor could compose songs that were loved by everyone and could make the guitar sing in ways that Ernesto took years to replicate.

With Héctor’s songs and Ernesto’s superior stage presence, their dream would soon be within their grasp.

The front door opened briefly before slamming shut. But the stomping feet and muffled groan of frustration didn’t belong to Héctor. He was quite familiar with those sounds after all their years of friendship. Which, by process of elimination, meant it must be Miguel.

Ernesto shook his head. The boy wasn’t a bad kid. He didn’t purposefully try to annoy anyone, he didn’t yell or scream, and he didn’t mess with Ernesto’s stuff. And he was certainly a fan and it was fun listening to how excited Miguel sounded when talking. But it was still a bit of an imposition to suddenly have a child in the household.

Héctor didn’t _mean_ to cause him issues. He was trying his best and Ernesto was used to being patient with his best friend. It was one of Ernesto’s biggest virtues.

Besides, it would only be temporary. No one was saying it. In fact, they were proceeding with the paperwork as if it was supposed to be permanent. But Ernesto knew Héctor better than anyone else. Héctor was many things, but prepared for the responsibility of a kid wasn’t one of them. Ernesto ended up taking care of Héctor half the time, making sure that he didn’t do something dumb. Héctor didn’t have a shred of common sense and desperately needed Ernesto to survive.

So perhaps Héctor was trying to do something nice since Enrique was his favorite _primo_ , probably the closest thing to a sibling that Héctor had until Ernesto formed a close friendship with him, but it wouldn’t be forever. Eventually either Héctor or his _tía_ would come to their senses and the boy would be moved to a more appropriate home. This was only a temporary measure. And Ernesto would be a good friend and hold his tongue.

But since the muffled groans of annoyance hadn’t stopped, Ernesto decided that it might be a good idea to poke his head out and make sure the kid wasn’t dying.

Opening the bedroom door, Ernesto spotted Miguel flopped facedown on the couch. He briefly raised his head and looked at Ernesto, but quickly let it drop again.

“Are you all right, _niño_?” he asked.

His voice still muffled by the couch cushion, Miguel said, “Tío Héctor is acting like a dork.”

“That,” he said slowly, “doesn’t really clear things up.”

The front door flew open without warning, Héctor scrambling inside. His eyes wide and a grin dominating his face, he ran to the refrigerator and yanked something out. Then he raced back out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Both Ernesto and Miguel stared after him, blinking in stunned silence.

After a moment, Ernesto said, “And… I still have no idea what’s going on.”

“Tío Héctor is a dork,” repeated Miguel, returning his face to the couch cushion. “He was supposed to be cool…”

“Héctor’s always been a dork. Now he’s just acting _loco_.”

 

* * *

 

Imelda brushed back the stray loose strands of hair from her face as she closed the now-full-and-organized cabinet’s door. She spent the entire day cleaning the new apartment before unpacking their belongings, a long task even after selling off anything they could spare to cover _that man’s_ debts. She could feel that her face was red from the exertion, no mirror required. Her shoulders and back ached, the muscles tied up in knots. And she was sticky with sweat. But the efforts were worth it. Other than a couple boxes with things like books or _fotos_ , the apartment was ready.

Imelda wanted nothing more than to flop on her bed, the one that she’d put together a couple hours ago. She wouldn’t even bother dragging the sheets over herself. She would be perfectly content just lying there limply. But she knew that she couldn’t stop yet. There was too much to do.

Coco would start asking for dinner soon. It was late enough in the day that she would be growing hungry. And Imelda hadn’t bought any food to put in their refrigerator yet, let alone started to cook anything.

And then she needed to get her daughter ready for tomorrow. It would be a busy day for both of them. Imelda would be starting her new, and hopefully more permanent, job in the morning. And Coco would be attending _kinder_ , beginning a day behind the other young children. Even if _kinder_ only lasted part of the day, Coco would have someone to look after her in the morning and might learn a few things. And Ceci already assured Imelda that Coco could stay in the shop in the afternoons. Imelda would just need to make certain to have something to occupy the girl quietly. Some crayons and paper, perhaps?

Turning on the sink, and observing with relief the water didn’t come out rusty and sputtering loudly like how it might in some older buildings, Imelda splashed some cool water on her face. She could do this. She could make this work.

Dinner. That was her first priority. Coco would need food. Imelda tried to remember if there were any stores close that would have something that would work. She didn’t want to start off their new life with scrounging food from the closest vendor because she couldn’t bother to do better. Her daughter deserved a homecooked meal after everything.

Like being uprooted and dragged to a new city. Like losing everything familiar. Like having a papá who…

 _Focus_. She needed to get out, get some groceries, bring them back, and cook something for dinner. She needed to get moving, no matter how much she wanted to take a short nap. She needed to get back to work.

So why was she still leaning against the counter?

A firm knock on the door startled Imelda out of her attempt to motivate herself back into action. Slowly, she stepped away from the counter as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She stared at the door, her mind trying to restart working after the interruption derailed it. What was going on? Who in the world could be at the door? Her brothers weren’t going to school close enough to come visit and Ceci would be more likely to call rather than just show up.

Was it that grumpy building manager? Or the owner? Did she forget to sign something on the lease? There better not be anything wrong with the deposit. She had enough trouble scraping together the right amount with everything else that she was dealing with at the same time. If they tried to claim that she didn’t provide it, she would make those people regret it.

Already gearing herself up for a fight, Imelda set her shoulders, marched across the apartment, and yanked the door open. A tall and skinny man flinched back, one hand jerking up in defense while the other balanced a plastic container. She didn’t recognize him and he was certainly distinctive enough that she should have, his nose and ears a bit on the larger side and his hair an unruly mess. But he wasn’t exactly ugly, the features rather suiting him. And he didn’t look particularly dangerous or intimidating.

And yet she remained on edge. She had no clue who he was or why some strange man was knocking on their door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, suspicion coloring her tone.

“ _Hola_ again, Doña Imelda.”

Recognition snapped through her at his voice. The man from that morning. The one with the boy and who insisted that he should get the door for her. The one who said that he lived one floor up What was his name…?

Héctor.

That was it. Héctor.

Both the voice and the name suited the face in front of her. But none of it explained why he was lurking on her doorstep.

“I know that you and your daughter are probably tired from moving all day,” continued Héctor, speaking rapidly, “and Tía Chelo always gives us too much to take home when we visit her downstairs. She isn’t _actually_ related to any of us, but everyone in the building calls her that. She insists on it. But since she gave us leftovers and I thought you might be too tired to consider cooking, or at least you shouldn’t have to cook after all that, I had a bit of an idea.” Holding out the plastic container with a bright grin, he said, “I brought you both some of her delicious _carne asada_. We want you to feel welcome in the building, after all.”

Part of her flared up in indignant anger. How dare he assume that she couldn’t take care of her daughter? She didn’t need some strange man giving her charity. She and Coco didn’t need help. Imelda never needed anyone’s help to take care of her. She was perfectly capable of getting food for her own child.

But, taking a slow breath, Imelda quietly admitted that it was nice not having to cook and having someone else prepare dinner. A homecooked meal that she didn’t need to make sounded perfect. And he was probably trying to be nice. He was being a friendly neighbor. She shouldn’t be looking for an excuse to pick a fight already. She shouldn’t make enemies of the entire building.

It would be rude to refuse, especially out of some type of stubborn pride.

“Mamá?”

Imelda glanced over her shoulder. Coco stood there, confusion on her face brightening into a smile as she caught sight of the man at the door. Héctor crouched down and waved at the girl.

“ _Hola_ , Coco,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

She waved shyly, giggling a little. And then Coco noticed the plastic container of food in his hands and her eyes widened.

Well, Imelda certainly couldn’t reject the offer _now_.

“Héctor was dropping off some food for dinner, _mija_ ,” said Imelda before turning her attention back towards the doorway. “ _Gracias_. This was a… kind gesture.” She took the offered container from him as he straightened up. “You didn’t have to do this. We would have managed just fine.”

“I know. But I _wanted_ to.” His hand wrapping around his wrist, Héctor shrugged and smiled awkwardly. “I hope that I didn’t overstep. I’m not intending that.”

After a moment, Imelda shook her head and said, “No. It… it was a nice gesture.”

A nice, sweet, and kind gesture. Most people wouldn’t go out of their way like this for someone that they didn’t know. It was thoughtful and generous. Even with such limited contact so far, Héctor seemed to be a good man.

But José once seemed nice. He once seemed sweet. He once seemed kind, thoughtful, and generous. José once seemed perfect, someone that she could trust and who claimed to love her. Imelda knew better than to assume anything about a man, especially one that she barely knew. A couple of small gestures weren’t enough to reveal a person’s true nature.

Imelda would accept the food politely, but that was it. She didn’t have the time to figure out his actual intentions or if his gesture was exactly what it appeared on the surface.

“ _Gracias_ ,” she said once again. “Have a pleasant evening.”

Giving a brief nod, Héctor turned and headed down the hallway as Imelda closed the door. At least he was polite enough not to comment on her sweaty and messy state. She shook her head tiredly before giving Coco a small smile.

“Are you hungry, _mija_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as "dolce" means to play a song "sweetly," "dolcissimo" means to play the music "very sweetly." And so far, things in this story do seem to be extremely sweet.


	4. Octave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seems to be enjoying this story so far. Not to mention it gives us the chance to giggle over Héctor and his huge crush. We’ll have to watch and see how that will turn out.

The alarm clock went off and Héctor’s hand hit the button to silence it before he properly woke up all the way. Fingers digging through his hair, he rolled off his bed. He didn’t quite feel as zombified as the day before. He wasn’t certain how much actual rest that he managed though. His thoughts kept twisting and turning over a certain new neighbor.

What was Imelda like? What brought her and her daughter here? Where did they come from? Did she like music? What did she like to do for fun? What was the rest of her _name_?

…Did he have a chance of getting to know her better?

Yanking off his pajamas, Héctor grabbed his new outfit from the small closet. Pants and socks were slipped on immediately while he left his shirt on the bed. It could wait until later.

Keeping quiet, Héctor stepped into the main room. He paused briefly to check on Miguel on the couch. The boy looked rather peaceful at the moment, curled into a little ball with the blanket wrapped around him. Though it was probably good that they didn’t borrow one of Ernesto’s numerous pillows for the makeshift bed. Ernesto might be his best friend and roommate, but Héctor knew that he wouldn’t appreciate the drool stains that Miguel was leaving.

After Ernesto teased him for nearly an hour for “practically tripping over himself like a lovesick idiot over some woman in the building” and Miguel finally stopped making disgusted expressions, Héctor had started researching solutions to the sleeping arrangements while the boy worked on some musical scales that he assigned him. With his laptop, Héctor found a few possible options. A few fold-out couches seemed reasonably priced, though Héctor doubted they were comfortable. And while stringing a hammock from the ceiling would be cool, it would really hurt if it broke and dropped Miguel in the middle of the night. Not to mention the damage it might do to the ceiling in that scenario. And just as he suspected, any of the actual beds would be too big to fit in the available space.

So yeah, that was going to be an ongoing project.

Taking a moment to set out a couple bowls on the counter, Héctor headed towards the bathroom. The mirror was steamed up, suggesting that Ernesto actually managed to wake up early and took a shower already. He usually didn’t crawl out of bed until later in the day. Maybe he had a meeting to arrange a performance for later in the year. Ernesto tried to start planning tours early, after all. Regardless, it meant that Héctor needed to wipe the mirror clean before snatching up his toothbrush from the edge of the sink.

He scrubbed off the fuzzy coating from his teeth and tongue with some quick brushing. Then he opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved the rest of his belongings. He trimmed his goatee and shaved the rest of his face. He swallowed his dose of medication with a mouthful of water before returning the cup and the orange bottle to the top shelf. And to finish off his grooming efforts, he dragged a comb through his hair. Each step was routine and practiced. He barely had to think as he went through the motions.

Though he took a little longer with his hair. He needed to look at least somewhat presentable, after all. What if he ran into Imelda again?

Héctor stepped out of the bathroom and headed to reclaim his shirt from the bed, pausing briefly to yank a box of cereal from the cabinets and drop it on the counter. The kid needed more variety than just cheap microwave breakfasts. He wasn’t sure if it counted as healthier, but it was at least different. Maybe he should start adding fresh fruit to the grocery list again. Tía Elena always encouraged them to eat fruit growing up, but he’d sort of fallen out of the habit in the last couple years. But fruit was good for kids, right? And they didn’t require cooking.

Once properly dressed, Héctor returned to the main room and shook Miguel’s shoulder. The boy groaned tiredly and tried to bury deeper into his blanket cocoon.

“Wake up, Chamaco,” he called gently, shaking his shoulder again. “Time to get up, get ready, and eat.”

“Sleep better,” grumbled Miguel, not opening his eyes yet.

“Sleep might be nice, but you need to eat and get ready. School awaits.”

The pitiful moan of protest sparked a chuckle from Héctor. He ruffled Miguel’s hair as the boy reluctantly rolled off the couch.

“How am I related to someone who’s such a morning person?” complained Miguel as he climbed onto the closest stool, not even bothering to change clothes first.

Pouring his younger _primo_ a bowl, Héctor said, “I wouldn’t call myself a morning person. I just stick to my morning routine, no matter how tired I feel.”

Miguel groaned dramatically before digging into his breakfast. Héctor couldn’t help chuckling again at his antics. He was a good kid. And a naturally talented musician.

The previous evening, between fending off Ernesto teasing him over his “little crush” and doing research on possible solutions for sleeping arrangements, Héctor lent Miguel his guitar and tried to get an idea of where he stood. Miguel didn’t know how to read sheet music and didn’t know the proper names for different chords, but he _did_ have a good ear and an excellent sense of pitch. Miguel even stated that he was completely self-taught, learning through experimentation and carefully studying Ernesto’s videos. That told Héctor that he was willing to put in the hard work and had the perseverance to back up his talent.

Starting him with the fundamentals would give Miguel a sturdy foundation to build on. Miguel had worked on the scales that Héctor assigned him diligently, not a single complaint about it being boring or easy compared to what he could already play. And Héctor planned to bring home some worksheets from school to help teach Miguel to read sheet music and work on learning some of the vocabulary. If Miguel continued to work as hard as he had at learning to play by ear, then he would pick it up fast. Héctor was already mentally adjusting his lesson plans to suit his younger student.

A rather unexpected benefit of the kid’s music lesson the night before was Miguel’s mood that morning. Other than the general drowsy grumpiness, he seemed fine. The quiet, withdrawn, and morose shadow that seemed to fall over the boy during calmer moments hadn’t struck that morning. The only thing that Héctor could think of that had really changed was the distraction of learning music. Especially since the kid was currently absent-mindedly tapping out a rhythm on the counter as he ate. It kept him from dwelling.

And if it helped Miguel, then Héctor would teach him everything possible about being a musician.

“Do I _have_ to stay on the bench after school today or can I meet you at the music room?” asked Miguel. “The bench is boring and I liked getting to hear you play.”

Héctor paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. What should he say? He should probably not encourage an eight-year-old to wander around alone much. It didn’t seem like a good parent or guardian decision. On the other hand, Héctor remembered wandering around Santa Cecilia when he was a child and Miguel probably did the same thing before he moved in with his older _primo_. But Enrique and later Ernesto tended to stay with Héctor during those childhood wanderings and he suspected that the rest of Miguel’s _primos_ kept an eye on him the same way. Not to mention the city wasn’t quite as safe and friendly as the small town. But the _secundaria_ was right next to the _primaria_ and Miguel knew how to find the right classroom. And honestly, was sitting on a bench alone outside any safer?

Tiny decisions like this shouldn’t twist his brain into knots. It should be a simple yes or no. Why was it stressing him out so much?

Because he _couldn’t_ mess this up.

Enough bad things had happened to Miguel already. And Héctor couldn’t make it worse. Maybe he could barely take care of himself some days, but he needed to figure it out for Miguel. He couldn’t afford to fail. The rest of the family were trusting him to take care of the kid. Enrique trusted him. He couldn’t let everyone down. And more importantly, he couldn’t let Miguel down.

So yeah, he needed to get even the small choices right.

What would Tía Elena do in this situation? What would _Enrique_ do?

“Uh… Tío Héctor?” asked Miguel.

Shaking his head briefly, he said, “ _Lo siento_. Got lost in my head for a moment.”

“You weren’t thinking about Doña Imelda again, were you?”

Héctor sputtered briefly, unable to find the words to respond. And judging by how hot his face seemed to be growing, he suspected that he was blushing. He wasn’t thinking about Imelda before. Not since Miguel woke up. But _now_ he certainly was.

He was about to spend the whole day distracted by the thought of her again, wasn’t he?

“Eat your breakfast,” muttered Héctor. “And as long as you come straight to my classroom after school, I think it’ll be fine.”

Miguel smirked before taking another bite.

 

* * *

 

Imelda could feel the start of a headache, one bordering on a migraine. She and Coco left early just in case there turned out to be some remaining paperwork for her daughter to start _kinder_. And that was even after Imelda called and they confirmed that everything was ready for Coco’s first day. But when Imelda showed up with a nervous daughter, Coco staring wide-eyed at her surroundings and clinging to her _mamá_ ’s dress when she found out she had to stay, the woman was greeted by a stack of forms. Needless to say, she turned some rather sharp words against those in charge. But regardless, the paperwork quickly gobbled up most of the spare time and getting Coco settled in the classroom with the other younger children swallowed up the rest.

But Imelda didn’t let the irritation over the surprise forms show on her face as she pressed a small kiss to her daughter’s forehead and reassured Coco that she would be back to pick her up for _la comida_. _Kinder_ only lasted half the day. The break from work should give Imelda enough time to come get her daughter, bring her back to Ceci’s shop, and even eat the meal that Ceci promised for the first day. And the promise was apparently enough to calm Coco into reluctantly letting go.

Coco’s _kinder_ classroom was in a new addition to the local _primaria_. Imelda could see the difference in color for the floors and walls, marking the edges of the older and newer construction. A pair of double doors separated the two sections, keeping the slightly older children away from the younger ones. But since the fastest way out led through the original section of the building, Imelda ended up marching past a bunch of nine-year-olds who were on the verge of being late. She barely noticed them though. She was in too much of a hurry.

But as she stepped out the front door of the building, an unexpected voice called, “Doña Imelda? What are you doing here?”

Her head snapped around at the sound of her name. But before she could truly start wondering who in the area could possibly recognize her, Imelda spotted a familiar tall figure. Héctor stared at her with a completely bewildered expression.

What was he doing here?

“I was dropping Coco off in the _kinder_ class,” she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended.

“Oh, that makes sense. I was bringing Miguel here before heading to the _secundaria_.” He gestured over his shoulder with a nervous grin. “I work over there as a music teacher. I don’t think I mentioned it before. I teach the students to play different instruments, though I prefer the guitar myself. Oh, since your daughter and my _primo_ both go here, maybe we could walk them here together sometime.” His stream of words were tumbling out more and more quickly. “Or maybe I could ask you to pick up Miguel sometime if I have a meeting after school and Ernesto isn’t able to make it. Or _something_. We should probably exchange phone numbers. I mean, if you want to. No pressure.”

“We’ll see.” Imelda tore her eyes away from him to glance at her watch, biting back a few sharp words when she saw the time. “ _Lo siento_. I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

His eyes widened suddenly in panic and Héctor glanced at his own watch. Then he took off running towards the _secundaria_ , long limbs practically wind-milling as he hurried away. He was certainly an odd man, though friendly.

Imelda, distracted by her own efforts to hurry, barely noticed the smile on her face until she almost reached Ceci’s shop. Her forming headache and earlier irritation were nothing more than a memory.

 

* * *

 

Ceci was under no illusions that her shop was the most popular, most successful, or the most mainstream. Though she liked to think that her dresses, suits, and alterations were the best quality. And enough customers seemed to agree that her business turned a healthy profit. She sold one-of-a-kind dresses, custom suits, and could even design clothes from scratch for the right price. People would pay well for the perfect dress for their special occasion, especially when it was the type of quality that Ceci specialized in.

It was a good business and she was very good at it.

In fact, she was dealing with enough customers that she could barely keep up during some of her busier times. Ceci needed someone to help with the bookkeeping, running the register, and taking care of the more basic alterations while she worked on the more complicated and intricate projects. And she’d known from the start who she needed to hire.

Ceci and Imelda lived in the same town as children. They were friends growing up. They were almost always in the same classes and tended to sit next to each other. They remained close over the years, even when they grew up and their lives led them in different directions. And that meant, before Ceci moved to the city to start her business, she once knew José.

She knew what he was like when he was younger. She knew how he and Imelda used to be when they were dating and shortly after they married. She knew how much Imelda loved him and how much he claimed to love her. And she knew exactly what his actions did when he stopped.

Honestly, if Ceci ever saw that man on the street, she would stab out his eyes with sewing needles for what he did to his wife and daughter.

Glancing up from the dressmaking dummy she’d been focusing on, Ceci watched Imelda finish cleaning up from their meal and quietly settle Coco in a corner of the shop. To be honest, the place hadn’t been designed with a child in mind. It was a business.

The large window displayed some of her nicer original pieces and the front section of the shop was occupied by a few chairs for customers to wait in, the register located closer the back to make it harder to steal from. But most of the main room was filled with racks of completed pieces, mirrors, and a couple curtained-off sections to serve as changing rooms. Further back were the dressmaking dummies and mannequins for the in-progress outfits and a rack of orders waiting to picked up. Ceci preferred working where she could still keep an eye on the rest of the shop. She saved the backroom for storage of any fabric or materials she wasn’t currently using on a specific order. Even the narrow staircase in the very back leading up to her apartment above the shop wasn’t exactly suitable for a child to wait in, the space completely covered in sketches and sewing materials.

Ceci didn’t like having to search for what she needed for a specific dress or outfit. She preferred to keep everything close at hand. She kept the front part neater for the customers, but the rest of the shop was her domain and she was in control.

Though that was changing a little now that she’d hired Imelda to help. And that meant making accommodations for Coco.

During the lunch break, Imelda had fetched the child from school since _kinder_ only lasted part of the day. And now that she was fed, they would see if their arrangements would work out. Next to the counter with the register, they’d fixed up a nice space for the child that should be clear of sewing needles and pins. Ceci found couple cushions and a blanket to keep the corner cozy and comfortable and Imelda brought along a doll, a stack of paper, and some crayons to keep Coco occupied and out of trouble. And most importantly, it would be easy for either one of them to occasionally glance over at her and make sure that the girl was all right.

Perhaps it wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but childcare was expensive and Imelda needed this job. And Ceci would tell anyone who asked that she needed Imelda’s help _specifically_. She couldn’t trust just anyone with the job. After all, what if they weren’t trust-worthy or couldn’t sew a simple hem? Imelda was reliable, dependable, and coincidentally in need of a job right when Ceci decided to hire on some help. Good help could be so hard to find and was certainly worth the effort, so they would be working around the child’s needs as much as possible.

“Be good, _mija_ ,” said Imelda, kissing her daughter’s head. “You’ll need to be quiet while Mamá and Tía Ceci work.”

The girl nodded solemnly before trying to smother a yawn. Hopefully she would take a nap for an hour or two on the cushions. Imelda straightened up and headed back to one of the other dressmaking dummies, the one with the blue dress on it. She took a moment to brush back a few stray hairs from her face before she returned to working on the hem.

Ceci pulled another pin from the bunch in her mouth and returned to her own work, satisfied that everything was under control.

This would benefit everyone in the long run. With someone else to help with the most mundane aspects of the job, she could focus on the more creative elements. And Imelda would have a well-paying and permanent job with decent hours that would also let her take care of her daughter at the same time.

And maybe Ceci would be able to convince Imelda to rejoin the dating world. Honestly, while the divorce may have only been official for a short time, she’d been essentially single for a couple years by now. José might have turned out to be a spineless and heartless piece of scum, but there were better men in the world. Imelda deserved to find someone. Or to at least have some fun looking.

 

* * *

 

Why in the world were they sending him advertisements for tequila? He didn’t even _like_ that brand.

Ernesto shook his head ruefully as he closed the small box, working his way through the mail as he lingered in the lobby. Héctor never remembered to get the mail. Not unless Ernesto told him to do it, usually because he was going to be late coming back from his night out. Or would be busy until the next morning, assuming that things went smoothly the night before. Ernesto was the one who always took care of the mail. He would sort through it and bring the mail up to the apartment, leaving the important stuff on the counter.

Héctor wouldn’t survive long without Ernesto around to look out for him. It was a miracle that he got through _universidad_ as far as Ernesto was concerned. Héctor didn’t have the common sense that most men were born with. He certainly couldn’t handle life without his best friend looking out for him.

But that was why they made a great team.

A slight _creak_ tugged his attention towards the front door. Ernesto raised an eyebrow as he spotted the new arrival. A charming smile slipped into place instinctively.

The woman was certainly worth a moment of his time. She was a little over a head shorter than him, but shaped nicely overall. _Very_ nicely. Her outfit might be more on the conservative and modest side. He generally preferred women in more casual or at least form-fitting attire. But he could make out her curves anyway and perhaps he could coax her out of those boring clothes. And perhaps she wasn’t as young as some, but she wasn’t exactly a crone and experience women could sometimes be a fun change.

But then his eyes traveled a little further down towards her legs, admiring the view until he caught sight of something that caused his half-formed plans to fizzle out. There was a little girl with her. The woman was a parent. He was smart enough to know that getting together with anyone with kids, even short-term, was begging for trouble.

Belatedly, Ernesto realized who he must be ogling. A strange woman in the building, one with a daughter? It had to be the infamous Imelda that Héctor was losing his mind over.

Héctor didn’t get to date much growing up. Santa Cecilia was a small town, people gossip and exaggerated everything because there was nothing else to do in that place to pass the time, and Héctor didn’t leave the greatest impression during his earlier years of school and it followed him as he grew up. The girls didn’t flock to the skinny, lanky, and awkward boy the same way they would Ernesto. The only girls who would consider going out with him did so out of pity, not affection or attraction. And even after moving to the city where there were so many more opportunities, poor Héctor never seemed willing to loosen up and have some fun.

But just because Héctor didn’t have many opportunities during his adolescence to go out didn’t mean he didn’t have good taste. Other than the child coming as a package deal, she would’ve been perfect.

“ _Hola_ , Doña Imelda,” he greeted politely as he walked towards her, his winning smile still in place. “And what are you doing on this fine evening?”

The woman frowned at his words, shifting her grip on the fabric grocery bag and subtly guiding the girl behind her with her hand. The suspicion and unease in her expression meant that his charming grin wasn’t having any effect on her. On the contrary, she looked like she was ready to swing her groceries at his head if he gave her an excuse.

“How do you know my name? Do I know you?” asked Imelda, her voice tense.

“No, but you met my roommate,” he said. “Héctor Rivera? He was talking about you all evening yesterday. And I’m certain he mentioned me to you. Or perhaps you’re familiar with my popular web videos?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he asked, “Señor Ernesto de la Cruz? Does that name ring a bell?”

Her uncertain expression eased slightly and her guarded posture relaxed. She didn’t look charmed though. There was something seriously wrong with that woman.

“I believe I remember him mentioning a roommate,” said Imelda. “But if you don’t mind, we have groceries that we need to put away and a lot of stairs to climb.”

“Of course, _Doña_.”

Shifting the mail to one hand, Ernesto headed over and opened the door to the stairwell for her. She hesitated a moment, staring at him before giving her daughter a short nod and the pair walked past him. He had a feeling that she had no interest in further small talk.

Which was fine. If she wanted to be so cold and short with her responses, there were plenty of others who would be happy to spend time with him.

On the bright side, this gave him the chance to watch her walk up the stairs from behind. Her kid and her cold and unwelcoming reactions to his advances made her less than ideal, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the view. And it was a nice and shapely view.

Yes, Héctor had good taste. Not much sense, but good taste.

The woman and her daughter reached their floor and quickly disappeared through the thick door to the hall. Ernesto continued up another flight before reaching the door to his own floor. And as he headed down the short hallway to his apartment door, he figured out exactly what he was going to say.

When he stepped into the apartment, Ernesto dropped the mail on the counter and took a quick look around the main room. Miguel and Héctor were both on the couch together. The kid had Héctor’s guitar on his lap and was working on some worksheets covered in musical symbols. And while he leaned over occasionally to offer some advice, Héctor mostly seemed involved with his laptop. Ernesto didn’t know if he was doing something related to his job at the _secundaria_ or if Héctor was working on editing on the latest video before they could post it. Either way, he was keeping busy.

“I ran into your crush downstairs,” he said without preamble. “I might have mentioned how you won’t stop talking about her.”

“ _Ernesto!_ ” Héctor flailed wildly as he knocked the laptop to the floor, his voice reaching an octave it hadn’t in years. “ _Why_ would you _do_ that?”

“Mostly for that look on your face, _mi amigo_.”

Héctor groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. And even that wasn’t enough to completely hide the red shade spreading from his ears, across his face, and down his neck. Miguel rolled his eyes as Ernesto chuckled at his antics.

“Don’t worry, Héctor. If you ever had a chance with her, I doubt I ruined it. And if not, you can always do better.”

And he meant it. Maybe after Héctor got over his crush and saw sense, Ernesto could find someone better. A young _señorita_ with a friendlier disposition and no children to tie her down, perhaps? Someone fun for his friend to go out with a few times. Casual and no strings attached.

Watching out for Héctor was a tough job, but it was a responsibility that Ernesto took seriously. His friend didn’t have much sense and needed Ernesto. Héctor couldn’t get by without him. So whenever that woman inevitably broke his heart or he managed to come to his senses, Ernesto would take care of it.

But until then, Ernesto would enjoy teasing Héctor about his crush. It was his prerogative as his best friend. Watching Héctor squirm and the kid gag over the entire thing was extremely entertaining. Hopefully he would get to enjoy it for at least a week.


	5. Sforzando

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these wonderful comments make me smile. I’m always glad to hear that people seem to be enjoying this. Hopefully you’ll continue to like what I have planned moving forward.

With the first week over, Imelda had reached the stage where she’d grown familiar enough with the tasks that she had picked up the routine, but they were still new enough that she felt exhausted by the end of the day. Her back ached, her feet ached, and even her eyes ached, causing her to occasionally rub them. But she’d experienced enough of these symptoms in the past with the different temporary jobs that she took after José left, so Imelda knew that the worst of it would pass as she adapted to her work and the walk home afterwards.

She still had a car, an older model parked in the small lot next to the apartment building that was reserved for residents. But traffic on the street, the difficulty parking in a busy city, and the cost of gas meant that Imelda would stick to walking as much as possible. It was harder on Coco’s short legs, but her little girl tried her best to keep up with her mamá and only complained occasionally about being tired.

That didn’t stop Imelda from picking Coco up and carrying her daughter the last part of the trip. The strain on her arms and back was worth hearing Coco’s cheerful commentary in her ear. But Imelda was certainly thankful when she spotted the apartment building past a thick clump of pedestrians.

The blast of cool air washed over them the moment she opened the door to the lobby, a welcome relief after the heat radiating up from the sidewalk and road. But the pleasant sound of someone plucking guitar strings was an unexpected surprise.

Perched on the bench and his brow furrowed with concentration, Miguel carefully worked his way up and down the scales on a guitar that seemed nearly as big as him. Occasionally he would look down at a small handful of paper on the bench beside him, but mostly he kept playing. He appeared to be completely focused on the task. Imelda didn’t think he’d even noticed the arrival of his new audience. Coco, on the other hand, looked enthralled as she stared at him with wide eyes.

“Mamá! Mamá!” she called excitedly, wiggling in Imelda’s grip. “Do you hear? Do you hear him?”

As Miguel startled suddenly at the outburst and nearly dropped the instrument from surprise, Imelda said, “I heard, Coco. But if you keep squirming, I’ll have to put you down.” Looking towards the boy, she said, “I didn’t expect to find you down here.”

Ducking his head shyly, he mumbled, “I didn’t think anyone would be here right now.” Miguel glanced back up, hugging the guitar close. “Ernesto kind of grabbed Tío Héctor for something on the computer and they took over the main room of the apartment. So I _might_ have… snuck down here to practice?”

“It sounds really pretty,” said Coco, trying to climb down. "Did you hear, Mamá? He played a pretty song.”

“It wasn’t really a song. It was the scales that Tío Héctor wanted me to learn,” he said, looking a little more confident. “But I _can_ play songs.”

“Play! Play!” begged Coco as Imelda dropped her on the bench next to him.

Noticing that he actually looked pleased by her request, Imelda still took a moment to settle her daughter down a little first. She couldn’t let Coco forget her manners.

“What do we say, _mija_?”

“ _Por favor_? I want to hear more.”

Looking both nervous and excited to have such an eager audience, Miguel repositioned his grip on the instrument. And then he started to play. He chose a familiar and easy song to perform, one that almost any child knew well enough to hum along. But Coco looked completely mesmerized by the sound and the way his fingers moved across the strings. And he was certainly talented for his age. Imelda could tell that much immediately. And she suspected that her daughter was quickly developing some hero worship for the boy.

When the old and familiar song came to an end, Coco clapped loudly before trying to hug him around the guitar. Miguel laughed a little before giving her a one-armed hug in return.

“It looks like you have a fan,” said Imelda. “ _Gracias_ for the performance, Miguel.”

“You should hear Tío Héctor,” he said with a grin. “He’s amazing. And he’s been teaching me a lot.” He held up one of the sheets of paper next to him. “See?”

“Is that why you’ve been spending so much time here?” asked Imelda. “I know your _tío_ mentioned that you were staying with him, but he didn’t say how long you were visiting.”

She didn’t expect the abrupt shift in his mood at her question. All of his excitement and pride over the performance evaporated, his smile crumbling as his face fell. He stared down at his feet dangling over the edge of the bench, kicking them slightly.

“I’m… not exactly… visiting,” he said quietly. “I moved here.” He reached over guitar, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around his left wrist. “Tío Héctor brought me because… he lives here and he’s supposed to take care of me now. He’s great, but I used to live in Santa Cecilia and everything is different now. I used to live with Abuelita, Papá Franco, Tío Berto, Tía Carmen, Tía Gloria, my _primos_ , and… Mamá and Papá.”

The boy wasn’t offering many details, but the way his voice cracked at the end and how he quickly wiped his nose on his sleeve gave her a general idea. And it broke her heart.

Maybe it was death. Maybe it was family drama. Maybe it was one of a dozen different things. But for some reason, Miguel had been separated from his parents and he was clearly hurting. And Imelda could tell that the pain was still raw and fresh.

“And Tío Héctor isn’t actually my _tío_ ,” he continued quietly. “That’s just simpler. He and Papá are… were _primos_.” He shifted uncomfortably. “They grew up together and it’s weird calling him _primo segundo_. He’s too old to be my _primo_.”

The use of the past tense answered her earlier unspoken questions. His parents were clearly gone. They were dead and he was dealing with the pain of that loss. Recent pain. And Héctor ended up in charge of his _primo’s_ son afterwards. Part of Imelda wanted to wrap the child up in a tight hug and make everything better.

Though her respect for the eager, helpful, and friendly man certainly went up a little. Not only did he seem willing to bring food to people moving into the building without being asked and for no apparent ulterior motive, but he also took in a newly-orphaned boy. Not all people would take on the responsibilities and challenges of raising a child. Not all people would accept the responsibilities of their _own_ child. It was hard to be annoyed by someone like Héctor in the face of that, even though her pride still prickled slightly over the act of charity.

“Miguel?” asked Coco quietly, reaching for his arm. “Are you sad? Maybe you can play something happy? Then maybe _you’ll_ be happy?”

Sniffling slightly and blinking rapidly, Miguel said, “I’m fine. But I can play something else.”

He coughed slightly and straightened up, trying to look more put together. After a moment, Miguel managed to give his small audience a smile. Then the music started again. His fingers danced all across the strings, a more complicated song than before. And not a tune that Imelda recognized.

Then Miguel started to sing.

“ _Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noche_ ,” he sang, smiling more with each word as his darker mood was pushed back. “ _Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoritas y señores_.” He gave Coco a quick nod, earning a small laugh from the girl. “To be here with you tonight brings me joy, _que alegria_. For this music is my language and the world _es mi familia_.”

The loud bang of a door slamming open brought the song to a stop, yanking everyone’s attention towards the stairwell. Scrambling out, running and nearly losing his balance in the process, Héctor looked completely panicked as he reached the lobby. But the moment his wide and frantic eyes landed on Miguel, some of the blind terror managed to melt away. Not all, but enough.

“ _Chamaco_!” said Héctor. “You can’t run off on me like that!”

“ _Lo siento_ ,” he apologized. “I just wanted to practice. And you and Ernesto were busy in the main room, I can’t play in the hallway outside our front door because the other people on the floor might complain, and the stairwell is too stuffy. So I thought I’d come down here.”

Running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily, Héctor said, “Yeah, I get that. I get it. But next time,” he said, shaking his head tiredly as he sat down next to Miguel and Coco, “could you tell me where you’re going or even the fact that you _are_ leaving the apartment? It would be easier on my heart that way.” Looking a little calmer even as he pressed a hand to his chest dramatically, Héctor added, “I really don’t want to die this young.”

“Miguel was playing music,” said Coco. “It was really, really, really pretty.”

Turning his attention to the younger child, Héctor said, “Miguel is very talented and works very hard at playing guitar.”

Glancing between Imelda and his _primo_ , Miguel grinned and said, “Maybe you can play for them, Tío Héctor? You wrote the song that I was just playing, right? I bet you can play it even better.”

“You write songs?” asked Imelda, blinking in surprise.

Héctor squirmed awkwardly. A blush spread across his face as his fingers wrapped around his wrist, the gesture a mirror image of Miguel’s earlier one. The similarity was a little cute.

“I… I sometimes scribble something together,” he mumbled, only glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re way better than that,” said Miguel. Shoving the guitar into his _primo’s_ hands, he continued, “You wrote songs for Ernesto, remember? You told me that. And Ernesto de la Cruz is super famous on the internet. Which means your music is _also_ super famous. And really amazing. Doña Imelda and Coco will love it.”

Héctor ducked his head as the boy complimented his musical prowess. The red shade on his face darkened and spread even as he lost the ability to meet anyone’s eyes.

“ _Miguel_ ,” he groaned.

“While I appreciate the offer,” said Imelda carefully, “it’s been a long day and an even longer week. Perhaps we can postpone the impromptu concert for another day.” Turning towards her daughter, Imelda said, “Come along, _mija_. You can see Miguel again later.”

“Okay, Mamá,” she chirped cheerfully, hopping off the bench. Waving at the pair, she added, “ _Hasta luego_.”

Taking her daughter’s hand, Imelda led Coco towards the stairwell. But as she opened the door, she heard a quick exchange of hissed words.

“Why did you do that?”

“If you’re going to be all weird about her, you should at least be nice and play her some music first, Tío Héctor.”

 

* * *

 

 _It was night, but the candles, music, and crowds of people made it harder to tell. Only the dark sky overhead proved how late it was. Everything seemed so lively and energetic, like a huge celebration. He didn’t know these people though. They didn’t look familiar, though their faces being painted like_ calaveras _made it even harder to tell. Miguel would almost think it was_ Día de Muertos _except he wouldn’t be lost in a crowd during the holiday. He would be home with his family._

_He had to find them. He didn’t know who these people were, where he was, or how he got there, but Miguel knew for certain that he needed to find his family. That’s why he was weaving and pushing his way through the loud and bustling crowd. He was searching. And for reasons that he couldn’t remember or explain, a sense of urgency kept nipping at his heels._

_He had to find them. Before it was too late._

_“Mamá! Papá!” shouted Miguel, craning his neck to try and see over tall strangers._

_He kept yelling for them. Where were they? They should be with him. Why couldn’t he find his parents?_

_When just calling for his parents didn’t work, Miguel started begging people in the crowd for help. Someone must have seen them. But no one listened. They kept talking and laughing with each other while ignoring him. And it was getting harder to move forward. Miguel had to keep pushing harder to get through the crowds of people._

_“Miguel?” called a familiar voice, rising above the rest of the noise. “Where are you?”_

_“Papá!” he shouted as he finally glimpsed his parents though a tiny break between the people. “I’m coming. Mamá!”_

_Desperation giving him strength, the boy fought his way forward. The thickening crowd now seemed to be purposefully hindering him though. Hands occasionally seemed to grab at his clothes and their voices grew deafening, though Miguel couldn’t understand a word. But he refused to stop._

_He needed to reach his parents. He could see them, their faces worried and confused. But that was all right. If he could get to his parents, everything would be fine. And he was so close._

_Wiggling through a final small gap between two people, Miguel broke free of the crowd with an off-balance stumble. He grinned in relief as he broke into a run, arms outstretched to hug them—_

_—only to pass straight through, Mamá and Papá dissolving into smoke._

_The strange celebration disappeared, leaving Miguel in silence and darkness. But he was still stumbling forward, his balance completely thrown when he encountered thin air instead of solid parents. Then he tripped over something unseen._

_But he didn’t hit the ground. Scared, confused, and helpless, Miguel kept falling. And falling. And fall—_

Miguel sat up, his chest heaving even as sobs choked him. Details of the nightmare already dissolving into vague fragments, he half-climbed and half-fell to the floor.

It wasn’t his room. His sleep-addled brain couldn’t specify more than that. But not being home and unable to run for Papá and Mamá somehow made the lingering emotions of the nightmare worse. His racing heart pounded in his chest like a hammer as he struggled to breathe. He scrubbed frantically at the tears running down his face. He needed—

 _Gone_.

The cruel knowledge broke through the exhausted fog of his mind. Mamá and Papá were gone. And with the exception of _Día de Muertos_ , which always sounded like made-up stuff to tell little kids rather than anything real, they were never coming back.

His chest squeezed painfully tight and his body trembled. Everything hurt and felt horrible. Choking on tears, Miguel stumbled through the darkness. He didn’t really about where he was going, instinct and habit guiding his feet. His questing hands found a door that he quickly opened.

Tears, heartache, grief, and the remnants of his nightmare choked Miguel as he hurried forward. He couldn’t even think. He couldn’t remember where he was or what was happening. He blindly sought out comfort, drowning in misery and needing to be rescued by anyone who could help. He just wanted it to stop.

When he hit the edge of the bed, Miguel didn’t even think. He climbed up and buried his face into soft cotton pajamas, startling the sleeping man awake.

“Miguel?” mumbled Tío Héctor, his voice heavy and slurred with sleep.

He sat up in bed, but Miguel climbed into his lap so that he could keep sobbing into his chest. Small fingers gripped the fabric tightly. It hurt. His chest, his head, and everything hurt and felt wrong. And it would never get better because his parents were gone, gone, _gone_.

Steady arms wrapped around the boy, one hand brushing back Miguel’s hair while the other rubbed small circles along his back. Tío Héctor hugged him close as he rocked him back and forth.

“Hey, Chamaco. It’s okay. It’s okay.” A weary sigh slipped out, Tío Héctor’s chest moving under Miguel’s embrace. “I miss them too.”

Miguel didn’t know how long they stayed like that. But his sobs gradually slowed and his body stopped trembling. His fingers loosened their desperate grip on Tío Héctor’s pajamas just like the tight pressure in his chest weakened. And he stopped choking on thick sobs as his heartbeat began to calm down.

Tío Héctor’s reassurances were gradually replaced by soft humming. An improvised tune, a quiet lullaby that he seemed to be creating on the spot, filled Miguel’s ears. The sounds soothed him and brushed away the final tendrils of the nightmare still clinging to him. Miguel let the music wrap around him like a blanket.

His tears dried and his breathing slowed. His body relaxed in his _primo’s_ arms. And with exhaustion replacing his earlier frantic sobbing, Miguel felt himself drifting back towards sleep.

 

* * *

 

The alarm clock rang out, causing Héctor’s arm to automatically reach out. When his hand met empty air, he leaned out further without bothering to open his eyes. And when his fumbling fingers missed anything, he leaned a little further. And then even further. And—

Héctor tumbled off, the sudden jolt of impact with the floor forcing him awake with cruel force. He blinked rapidly in confusion as he tried to figure out where he was. Not waking up in his bedroom was throwing him off. But after a few groggy moments, Héctor realized that he was on the floor of the main room of the apartment and he was there because he fell off the couch.

His sluggish brain also provided a belated explanation for why he was sleeping on the couch in the first place. Héctor remembered waking up to a frantic and crying boy latching onto him. It was one of Miguel’s bad nights. They’d grown rarer in the weeks since the accident, but they weren’t gone. And after Héctor managed to calm him down enough that Miguel finally drifted back to sleep, he decided to move to the couch and let the boy claim the bed for the rest of the night. He was hoping that having an actual bed would help. Miguel needed the sleep.

Honestly, Héctor needed a full-night’s rest too. Maybe he could go to bed early or at least get a nap later. The messed-up sleeping pattern wasn’t exactly healthy. He could already feel the start of a headache forming.

Oh, wait. That was the alarm clock. He’d brought it out and set it on the end table the night before. Héctor finally hit the button. The sound and the forming headache both cut off, leaving him in peaceful relief.

Climbing to his feet and running a hand through his hair, Héctor quietly slipped into his bedroom. He took a moment to check on Miguel, tucking the blankets around him more firmly, before silently searching his closet. No school that day meant he could choose more casual clothes. Besides, he would need to do laundry later that afternoon. After a little consideration, Héctor pulled out a pair of jeans and the shirt that always made Ernesto roll his eyes.

Rather than risk waking the kid, he carried the clothes towards the bathroom before changing out of his pajamas. He even managed to juggle the load long enough to pull a couple of bowls out of the cabinets and set them on the counter along the way.

Once he pulled his clothes on, Héctor continued his morning routine. He brushed his teeth quickly, cleaning the fuzzy texture from his mouth. After returning the toothbrush to its customary spot on the edge of the sink, Héctor trimmed his goatee and shaved the rest of his face. He swallowed his dose of medication with a mouthful of water before returning the cup and the orange bottle to the top shelf. And finally, Héctor dragged a comb through his hair until most of it wasn’t standing up anymore.

Returning to the rest of the apartment, he didn’t immediately start making breakfast. Mostly because “making breakfast” would just involve pouring cereal. But he also hesitated because he didn’t know how long Miguel would stay asleep. There was no need to rush when the kid might stay in bed for a couple more hours.

Well, he might as well take advantage of the spare time. Poking his head back into his bedroom just long enough to drop off his pajamas and grab his bag, Héctor settled on the couch with a stack of papers. His students didn’t have as much written work as many classes, most of their grades coming from participation, practicing their instruments, and the occasional school performances for parents. But he did give the occasional quiz to check if they were picking up some of the concepts. And that meant Héctor needed to break out the red pen and go over his students’ attempts to identify the meanings of different musical symbols and terms.

Héctor worked his way through the quizzes, the stack gradually shrinking. Most of his students did well, though he noticed a couple questions tended to be missed more often than others. He would need to go over those words again in class and make sure that they understood them.

Humming under his breath, Héctor quickly lost track of time as he worked. He nearly finished the entire stack before he heard the first signs of life from the bedroom: the _creaking_ of the mattress and the soft _thud_ of tiny feet hitting the floor. He glanced briefly at the door before setting the papers aside. By the time Miguel opened the door and dragged himself out, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled into the room, Héctor already had his bowl of cereal ready.

“If you want to watch cartoons, don’t turn the volume up too high,” said Héctor. “Ernesto’s still asleep.”

Yawning, Miguel nodded and sat on the couch. Héctor handed him the bowl and sat down next to him. Miguel pulled the quilt off the cushion and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. As Héctor worked on grading the last of the quizzes, Miguel ate his breakfast while completely enthralled by the colorful weekly adventures of his favorite characters.

When he finished grading the papers and put them back in his bag for Monday, Héctor leaned back with his own bowl and asked, “Can you catch me up on the show? I’m a little behind.”

Just as he suspected, Miguel was more than willing to explain the finer points of the cartoon to a willing audience. The characters, the plot, the backstories, the theories, and everything else. The boy’s eyes were bright and his voice excited as he spoke. And even if the kid wasn’t already making the show sound interesting, it would be worth it just to have Miguel acting so lively. It was a pleasant change from his state the night before.

 _Ay_ , Héctor had no idea if he was making things better or worse. He just hoped he was helping the kid.

As they hit a commercial break, Héctor said, “We’ll need to do some grocery shopping later and I’ll need to do the laundry, but what do you think about heading to the playground today. It isn’t exactly the biggest or fanciest, but it’s got a jungle gym, a few swings, and stuff. And a little fresh air would be good for us. Or at least as much fresh air as you can get in the city.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Is it far?”

Nodding, Héctor said, “A little bit. We’ll have to walk.”

A long _creak_ of a door opening and a zombie-like groan interrupted their discussion. Shuffling like a member of the undead, Ernesto headed towards the refrigerator only to stare vacantly at the contents when he opened it. He stood there for several moments before blinking blearily and closing the fridge door back.

“ _Buenas días_ , Ernesto,” greeted Héctor. “Come to join us for breakfast?”

Blinking a few times, he turned towards the pair on the couch. Ernesto squinted tiredly at them before apparently recognizing his roommate and the kid. Then he scowled in annoyance.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that shirt,” he grumbled. “I thought you threw it out.”

Grinning, Héctor said, “You know you love it.”

“The thing hangs on your skinny frame like a sack. Not to mention that the only reason that you should own a shirt like that is because a red sock got lost in your white laundry. No man should go around in a shirt that ill-fitting and that color.”

“You’re just jealous of how good it looks on me and how comfortable it is. Rose is a great shade on me.”

“ _Please_ ,” said Ernesto, rolling his eyes. “The shirt’s carnation, not rose. Carnation or possibly salmon.”

“Last month you told me it looked coral.”

“That was with natural lighting. It looks different indoors.”

“Besides, it’s rose. A dusty rose color.”

“It’s _pink_ ,” groaned Miguel, shaking his head at their antics. “Tío Héctor’s shirt is pink.”

Ruffling his hair, Héctor said, “ _Sí_. It’s pink. You know, pink was considered a very masculine color about a hundred years ago.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it makes you look like a flamingo,” muttered Ernesto.

Laughing, Héctor said, “Does not.”

Chuckling in return, Ernesto said, “I’ll leave you two alone with your cartoons and your disastrous sense of fashion.” Snagging the cereal box and tucking it under his arm, he shuffled back towards his room. “I have a live-stream in about two and a half hours. I have to eat and get ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sforzando" is used in music to indicate that a powerful accent on a particular note compared to normal. It give the music a bit more force and hits hard.


	6. Rilassato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely a nice and fun story so far. Lots of cool fluffy things for these people in this non-murder AU. Though it isn’t completely happy, which Miguel’s nightmare in the last one proved. But it is more cheerful than some of my “Coco” fanfics.
> 
> Though I do notice that a few of you are starting to pick up on the subtle hints I’m weaving in. There are details that it would be wise to pay attention to during this story. I’m already foreshadowing stuff.

Coco was bouncing as Mamá collected a ripe orange and peeled the skin off for her, handing it over when she finished. Mamá said it was the weekend, which meant that she didn’t have to go to school. And while Mamá said that Tía Ceci needed help every other Saturday, she apparently wasn’t working today. That meant that Coco could spend the whole day with Mamá without having to sit in the corner quietly while she helped make pretty dresses.

And so far, they’d had lots of fun. Mamá drew pictures with her that morning, asking different questions about _kinder_ and the other children in the class. Coco described everything eagerly. Animals, buildings, flowers, people, and other colorful figures covered the sheets of paper that Mamá would hang on the walls or the refrigerator later. And then they’d played with her doll. They had a fun game that involved her doll going on adventures across the main room of the apartment, befriending talking animals, and even playing guitar like how Miguel did.

It was a fun morning. And even Mamá seemed to be having fun, smiling as they drew and played. And now they were going to run some errands.

With an orange in one hand that she was slowly pulling apart and nibbling on, Coco was ready. They were going to go shopping. They’d picked up a few groceries earlier in the week, but Mamá said they’d only collected enough to get them through a few days. Now Mamá said they could properly stock the kitchen. And Coco would help her.

With Mamá carrying a pair of cloth bags to collect the shopping and Coco carrying a smaller one, they climbed down the steep staircase and out to the sidewalk. Coco held tight, not wanting to lose Mamá in the crowds or across the various streets. Everything was too loud and busy to risk getting lost.

On the corner of two streets was the small store that Mamá brought her to last time. Outside were a couple rows of fresh produce on display. Crates of fruit and vegetables rested under the shade of a fabric canopy. Inside the building, a few tall shelves held boxes and cans of food stacked higher than Coco’s head. And at the back were the glass doors for the freezers and refrigerators, keeping stuff cold and fogging up when they were opened. Coco loved drawing in the fog on the cold glass last time, though Mamá didn’t let her do it for long.

As they reached the place and Coco finished eating the orange, Mamá briefly met the eyes of the young man keeping watch outside. She gave a nod of greeting and he returned it. Then Mamá started looking through the crates of fruit. She examined each one carefully, studying the colors, how they felt, and how they smelled. Different fruits and vegetables looked different when they were ripe. It was a lot to remember, but Mamá knew everything. And someday Mamá would teach her how to pick out the perfect oranges and limes too.

Once the first cloth bag was filled with produce, Mamá led her inside. The woman behind the counter, her hair streaked with gray, glanced up at them as they entered. Coco waved at her. She gave Coco a smile in return before returning to her newspaper.

A few smaller boxes were slipped into Coco’s bag, but Mamá carried most of the groceries. They moved along the first shelf. Sometimes Mamá would pick up a can or bag, silently mouth a few words like she was counting, and then she would set it back down before moving on. But mostly she knew exactly what they needed and didn’t hesitate before adding the item.

Coco grew distracted by the different colored boxes that they passed. And that meant she wasn’t paying attention as they turned the corner and Mamá suddenly stopped, causing Coco to run into the back of her legs on accident.

“Héctor?” asked Mamá, quietly surprised.

Coco peered around and saw the nice man. Both Héctor and Miguel stood in the narrow aisle, a messy stack of boxes in their arms. Héctor seemed to be having a little trouble balancing everything. She halfway expected him to drop the small collection of oranges tucked under his chin.

Mamá picked out better fruit though. But he probably tried his best. Héctor wasn’t Mamá, after all.

Then she noticed something else about the man and a bright grin spread across Coco’s face. Héctor’s shirt today was pink. And pink was the prettiest color ever. She nearly bounced in excitement. Héctor liked pink too.

“Doña Imelda,” he said. An orange managed to slip free from his grip, bouncing slightly as it rolled across the floor. “And the lovely Coco. I didn’t expect to see the two of you today. I suppose we’re both buying groceries for the week.”

“Tío Héctor said we needed more fruit to snack on,” added Miguel, struggling not to drop his load. “So we came here after hanging out at the playground.”

Looking over the rest of the groceries in the man’s arms, Mamá said dryly, “Considering how you mostly seem to be buying frozen breakfasts and junk food, a couple oranges might be good for you.” She shook her head slightly. “Is this all that you eat or do you actually cook real food?”

“If I tried to cook anything more complicated, I would burn the entire building down,” said Héctor with a sheepish grin. “And since you and Coco just moved in, I don’t think that you’d appreciate it.”

Coco saw Mamá smile slightly at his words, struggling not to chuckle. She also saw Miguel roll his eyes.

A few moments after she calmed down and studied them, Mamá sighed and shook her head. She reached over and did her best to straighten the clumsy stacks in Héctor’s arms.

“I can’t in good conscience let a boy eat only this junk or go hungry,” said Mamá slowly. “Buy some eggs, tomatoes, onions, chili peppers, and cilantro. And bring them with you to our apartment on Monday morning. I won’t buy the ingredients to feed the pair of you, but it isn’t hard to make _huevos rancheros_. You should at least go to school with a proper breakfast. As a thanks for bringing us dinner when we moved in. And because a growing child needs a real meal to start the day.”

The rapid changes to his face as dozens of emotions flashed across his face were too fast for Coco to see properly. But his expression eventually settled into a goofy grin. He then ducked his head slightly.

“You don’t owe us for that dinner,” he said. “I just did it to be nice.”

“And I’m doing this because Miguel needs something more nutritious than microwavable meals,” said Mamá. “It isn’t hard to improve his diet. The fruit is a good start. Maybe we can find a bottle of vitamins to help him out.”

Coco heard Miguel snort and mumble quietly, “Probably on the shelf next to the pixie dust.”

“Miguel,” said Mamá dryly, “vitamins are a real thing.”

Something about Mamá’s tone and the look of Miguel’s face sent Coco giggling. And when Héctor started chuckling, frozen boxes of food started slipping to the ground. His attempts to grab them only made more fall. And that nearly sent Coco falling to the ground laughing.

“I… I forgot to bring a bag?” Héctor stared down at the mess, cringing slightly. “We went to the playground first and I didn’t think to grab it.” His shoulders slumped. “This was not my best idea.”

Shaking her head, Mamá looked down at the still-giggling Coco.

“Could you go up to the register and ask the nice _señora_ if she has a bag that we could borrow?”

Coco nodded eagerly before standing back up and running down the aisle. But that didn’t stop her from hearing them trying to pick up the scattered boxes. And she heard Mamá talking to them.

“I’ll help you pick out some new oranges too. A couple of these are almost overripe.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know _what_ it is she’s doing, but what you’re describing is _not_ a date,” said Ernesto, leaning on the counter as Héctor and Miguel put away the groceries.

Throwing his hands up dramatically, Héctor said, “What am I supposed to think? She invited me to her home. And she offered to cook for me. How is it _not_ a date?”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow at the words. He knew that his best friend didn’t have as much of a social life as him, but could Héctor really be this naïve and innocent? He shook his head slowly at his roommate. Well, at least he was lucky enough to have Ernesto around to educate him on these things.

“She invited you to breakfast, not a romantic dinner at a fancy restaurant. And I don’t think that you can call anything a date if there are two children at the table with you.” Chuckling slightly, Ernesto said, “But honestly, the only reason that a breakfast should ever be connected to the idea of a ‘date’ is because you spent the night before with the woman.”

“Like a sleepover?” asked Miguel.

“ _Sí_. A sleepover. Exactly like a sleepover.” Héctor’s words came out a little too fast and frantic while his eyes were wild and anxious. “That’s what Ernesto is talking about. A sleepover.”

And while Miguel accepted the explanation with a nod, Héctor gave Ernesto a strained and stressed look. There would undoubtedly be a conversation eventually about what was and was not considered appropriate topics for children. Héctor could be so overprotective of the boy. It was mildly amusing at times and further proof that Héctor would undoubtedly realize this entire setup was a bad idea eventually. It was clearly too stressful and caused too many issues.

It was only a matter of time until Héctor sent Miguel home and things returned to normal. Until then, Ernesto would be patient. And maybe he could humor his friend by not mentioning the movie that he let the kid watch the one time that Héctor asked him to look after the boy for a couple hours. It probably didn’t qualify as child-appropriate either.

 

* * *

 

Imelda turned off the water, the steam floating up from the tub lazily. With Coco in bed and a full week of work ahead of her, she wanted to take advantage of a little free time. And at the moment, soaking in a bubble bath sounded like the greatest luxury. She stepped into the water, the temperature nearly uncomfortably hot, as she settled into the tub. Imelda smothered the quiet moan of pleasure as she leaned back and the warm water reached up to her chest. And once she moved her hair out of the way, she let her hands rest on her stomach and closed her eyes.

The warmth soaked into her, reaching all the way down to her bones. The water lapped over her lazily. The heat relaxed her muscles and soothed the aches from the long day. The lavender scent from the bubbles, the bottle a birthday gift from her brothers that she used sparingly, filled the air. Other than adding candle and music to the mix, the situation couldn’t be any more relaxing. Imelda took a deep breath, enjoying the warmth, the water, the bubbles, and the scent of lavender. It wouldn’t take much to doze off completely.

As her muscles relaxed further, her hand drifted a little lower. Her fingers brushed against a thin line. She traced it absently, running her fingers along the scar. Flattened and faded slightly by the last few years, the scar ran across her lower stomach. And it was still obvious enough that she tended to be cautious about which bikini swimsuits that she would wear now.

Imelda wasn’t so vain that the appearance of it bothered her much, though she had no interest in people staring. Motherhood always left some form of evidence. Some women gained stretchmarks. Imelda didn’t mind the marks left on her own body.

“ _Mamá, you said that lady has a baby in her belly?_ ”

“ _That’s right_.”

Her pregnancy with Coco wasn’t the easiest or smoothest. The last couple months were spent on bedrest. A precaution, assured the doctor. Nothing to worry about. It was frustrating being trapped and unable to move much during that time, but José was there. That made it a little easier to bear.

“ _But how did a baby get in there?_ ”

“ _It happens sometimes when mamás and papás love each other and want a family._ ”

“ _And how does the baby get out, Mamá?_ ”

Delivery had started out as everyone described: painful and exhausting. And hard. Harder than anything else in her entire life. But Imelda had been prepared for it. She was ready for the process, though the doctor seemed a little more stressed than she expected. She was less prepared for the feeling of something inside her giving way.

Then alarms started sounding. The doctor started throwing out words as things grew more frantic. Concerning words and medical phrases. Words that continued as everything became a drug-induced vague blur and then continued even when she woke up afterwards.

Fetal distress.

Uterine rupture.

Intra-abdominal bleeding.

“ _In my case, I went to the hospital. A doctor put your mamá to sleep and took you out_.”

Cesarean and subtotal hysterectomy.

The only option, a doctor apologized to a sore and groggy patient afterwards. There was no time to attempt anything else. Not without risking the lives of both mother and child. Imelda had understood and accepted the explanation with minimal regrets. She ended up rearranging her expectations of the future, but she held no regrets by the time they slipped a wiggling Coco into her arms.

Imelda didn’t regret the thin long line across her stomach or everything it meant. She certainly didn’t mourn. Not when she had a beautiful, sweet, clever, and wonderful daughter. But while she knew that there would never be a satisfying answer or explanation for why a man might think that walking out on his family was a good idea, Imelda couldn’t help wondering if José left because…

Shoving that entire train of thought aside, Imelda sighed, opened her eyes, and pushed herself up a bit in the tub. Thinking about José ruined the relaxing feeling from the warm bath. Well, she was almost finished anyway. The water was starting to cool and the bubbles dissolving by now. Imelda reached down and pulled the plug free.

Gurgling quietly, the water drained away as she stood up. She then pulled the curtain across and started the shower. She couldn’t recline in a warm bath any longer, but she needed to properly wash. She needed to get everything ready for her busy morning.

Imelda started working a lather into her hair. She was still surprised that she made the offer to Héctor, inviting him and Miguel to breakfast. But at the time, it seemed like the natural decision. She had seen him standing there, clearly struggling with all the challenges of caring for a child even as he tried to meet them with a handful of fruit. She’d seen him standing there, doing his best to be a good caretaker and a good man. She’d seen him and couldn’t ignore the impulse to help.

Héctor honestly seemed like a good man. Every encounter with him supported that impression. Whether that meant bringing leftovers to new neighbors or taking in his orphaned _primo_ , Héctor couldn’t seem to stop being nice and helpful. It was hard finding someone that genuine. Sweet, loyal, and good-looking…

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see him again. She might be busy with their lives, building something new and better for her and Coco. But there was no reason why she couldn’t have a friend. And he seemed like a decent person to strike up a friendship with.

Besides, she was mostly doing this for Miguel. The boy deserved a homecooked meal and Héctor deserved a break. If he could bring her and Coco food on their first day, then Imelda could return the favor. It was a kind and generous gesture to help a child and his guardian, nothing more.

The man was trying his best. Imelda had nine months to prepare herself for the challenges of parenthood before Coco’s arrival. Though even _that_ wasn’t enough time in all honesty. Héctor had no warning before Miguel became his responsibility. He was doing his best with the circumstances handed to him. Unlike some people, he was trying. He deserved some help. A proper breakfast and a gesture of friendship seemed like a small thing to offer.

But it was still mostly for Miguel.

Imelda absently rinsed the shampoo from her hair, the remaining suds washing down her body before disappearing down the drain. After a few minutes, she finally turned off the water. She wrapped one towel around her hair before reaching for a second one. Imelda shivered slightly as she dried off the remaining droplets, a chill causing goosebumps to form on her skin. Pulling on her nightgown was such a warm and cozy relief.

Fighting back a yawn, Imelda picked up a comb from the edge of the sink and started picking out the tangles from her hair. Starting from the ends, she worked her way up until the strands were silky smooth. Imelda used the same method when she combed out Coco’s hair, just as her own mamá used to do the same when Imelda was a child.

Eventually she finished and set the comb down. Then, after weaving her hair into a loose braid to keep it from tangling as much during the night, Imelda quietly headed towards her bedroom.

She needed her rest. Tomorrow would be busy. She was making breakfast for their neighbors in the morning.

But it was only breakfast. Nothing more. Breakfast for the sweet boy that Coco liked and the kind-hearted and good-looking man that took him in.

Imelda sighed, shaking her head slightly as her thoughts briefly brushed over the topic of Héctor. He was certainly a distracting person. A nice and helpful, but distracting man. One that her daughter seemed to like and who always took the time to be nice to Coco. One that seemed to be worth getting to know better as a friend. Cooking breakfast for Miguel and Héctor might be enjoyable.

Turning off the lamp, she slipped into bed and pulled the blanket over herself. Imelda smiled, settling on her pillow comfortably and enjoying the warmth. Sleep gently pulled her down.

 

* * *

 

His alarm clock rang out, pulling Héctor awake and causing his hand to instinctively turn it off. Yawning and stretching as he sat up, he dragged himself out of bed. He plucked an outfit out of the closet, setting the shirt to wait on the bed while pulling on his pants. And, scratching at his scalp groggily, Héctor headed towards the rest of the apartment.

He paused at the couch, checking on Miguel. No nightmares last night. He’d slept soundly and was currently sprawled limply across the cushions. His bare foot dangled over the edge. Even if he would be waking up soon anyway, Héctor still took the time to tug the blanket over the exposed limb.

He stopped in the kitchen next. Remembering the list of ingredients that Imelda picked out for him, Héctor collected the requested eggs, vegetables, limes, and such from the refrigerator. He tucked them into a bag and left them on the counter before continuing towards the bathroom.

His morning routine continued smoothly, Héctor barely sparing it a thought as he went through the familiar motions and tried not to overthink what was coming. He bushed his teeth, removing the scummy and fuzzy feeling from his mouth, before returning the toothbrush to the edge of the sink and opening the medicine cabinet. He trimmed his goatee slightly before shaving the rest of his face. He swallowed his dose of medication with a mouthful of water before returning the cup and the orange bottle to the top shelf. Finally, Héctor combed his hair to a state of semi-neatness and returned the various items to where they belonged.

He had to look good. They were going to see Imelda that morning.

Returning to the bedroom across the apartment, Héctor pulled on his white shirt and fastened the buttons. And, taking a moment to grab his bag and doublecheck that he had everything in it, he returned to the main room.

Reaching down and shaking the boy’s dangling foot, Héctor called, “Wake up, Chamaco. You need to hurry up and get ready. Doña Imelda promised us food this morning. We don’t want to be late.”

“I’m up,” groaned Miguel, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes. Groggily standing up, he repeated, “I’m up.”

“Then get dressed, brush your teeth, and get your backpack,” he said.

Still moaning and groaning tiredly, Miguel shuffled his way towards the bedroom to claim his clothes. As the boy worked his way through the morning tasks, Héctor folded the blanket and set it and the pillow on the arm of the couch. Then he reclaimed the bag of groceries. He waited patiently for Miguel to finish up and wander back over. Héctor still had to flatten his hair slightly, but he looked presentable.

“Remember we’re her guests.” Opening the front door, Héctor said, “You’ll be on your best behavior, right?”

“ _Sí_ ,” he said with a nod. Grinning smugly, Miguel asked, “Why? Worried I’ll embarrass you in front of your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He was proud of himself; Héctor managed to keep his voice calm even as his face grew warm. “But she’s being nice enough to do us a favor and cook us breakfast. We can be polite in return. You’re always polite whenever one of the _tías_ in the building makes extra dinner for us, after all. It’s the same thing.” Smiling wryly at him, Héctor said, “Just act like Tía Elena is watching us.”

The pair hurried down a flight of stairs, through the heavy door for the stairwell, and down the short hallway. And far too soon, Héctor found himself staring at the door to Imelda’s apartment. He froze, suddenly unable to move. Alarms started ringing in his head as his stomach dropped.

He couldn’t do this. It was a mistake.

True, Imelda was beautiful, caring, kind, and amazing. True, every encounter only seemed to prove his first impression of her. True, Héctor spent the rest of the weekend thinking about her after she extended the invitation.

But now that he was facing the apartment door, no matter how much Ernesto scoffed that it wasn’t a date, Héctor couldn’t help worrying that this would be his one chance and that he was about to ruin everything. He was struggling with the impulse to bury his hands in his hair out of stress; he barely managed to tame it in the first place.

Sighing heavily, shaking his head, and probably even rolling his eyes, Miguel abruptly reached over and knocked on the door. And while Héctor grimaced slightly, it didn’t take long for the sound of scurrying feet to approach the door. A small and curious face poked out and grinned at them.

“You’re here,” greeted the little girl brightly.

“ _Hola_ , Coco.” Miguel waved at her. “Is your mamá in the kitchen?”

Nodding, Coco said, “ _Sí_.”

“ _Buenos días_ , Coco. It’s nice to see you again,” said Héctor as she let them inside. Trying to calm down a little, he asked, “Are you excited about another week of school?”

The girl shrugged, which was an understandable reaction to the question. He would have probably done the exact same thing at her age. But she still seemed rather cheerful as she closed the door.

Imelda and Coco’s apartment shared the same floor plan as the other apartments in the building. Thus there were plenty of similarities. The main room also combined the living room with the kitchen, a counter separating the two spaces. They even had the same yellow tile that had probably been installed decades ago. The chips and cracks were a little different, but that was a minor detail. The biggest differences were the choices of personal touches. The furniture, photographs, and minor decorations were different than what two bachelors would pick. Cheap, sturdy, but decent-looking furniture and a small handful of _fotos_ in nice frames. Curiosity tried to pull him to look more closely at the _fotos_. But a warm and sweet sound won his attention.

Pulling out dishes, utensils, a cutting board, and a cast-iron skillet, Imelda was in the middle of breakfast preparations. Her hair was pulled up and she wore an attractive loose dress, clearly ready for the day. Not that he expected to find her in her pajamas. But more important was the fact that she was singing softly under her breath as she worked. She seemed distracted, not really noticing that she was doing it or that she now had company. But the sound of her voice…

_Ay, dios mío_ …

Héctor could have stood there, listening to her distracted singing. The sound seemed to go through him, burying itself deep into his heart. Into his bones. It wrapped around Héctor and stole his breath away. Her voice felt warm, smooth, and powerful. Her singing… If he wasn’t already inexplicably head-over-heels for Imelda, her singing would have ensured it.

“Mamá,” called Coco, interrupting the song. “Miguel’s here.”

Looking over and spotting the new arrivals, Imelda said, “I can see that. Did they knock at the door? I didn’t hear them.”

“Coco was kind enough to open the door for us,” said Héctor. Holding up the bag of groceries even as he set the other bag of graded quizzes on the floor, he added, “I brought everything that I bought on Saturday.”

Imelda accepted the bag and pulled out the eggs. Then, without much warning, she grabbed Héctor’s arm and steered him over towards the counter. And once there, she placed a well-worn knife in his hand.

“We’re in a hurry this morning. And since you claim to burn everything, we’ll keep you off the stove,” said Imelda, her words firm and matter-of-fact. “I’ll work on the tortillas and the eggs while you handle the _salsa fresca_. Start dicing the tomatoes, onions, and peppers. And then you can chop up the cilantro and slice a couple limes for me.”

While certainly unexpected, the request loosened the knot in his chest. The casualness and how at ease she seemed recruiting him for the chore somehow lessened his nervousness. He could handle this. There was no pressure.

Ernesto was right; this wasn’t a date. Imelda was being friendly and helping him out. It wasn’t any different than when Tía Chelo invited them over for dinner. Or when Enrique used to help him with homework or how Tía Victoria used to send him to buy a couple Cokes at her request. This was something friendly, casual, and relaxed.

“I’ll see what I can do then,” said Héctor, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “I’m at your command, _Doña_.”

Tugging on the boy’s arm, Coco said, “Miguel, do you want to see my room?”

“Well, we do have time until your mamá and Tío Héctor have breakfast ready.” Miguel shifted his grip on his backpack and said, “Lead the way.”

The children vanished into the rest of the apartment as Héctor grabbed a tomato. While cooking food generally ended in a burnt or inedible disaster, this should be manageable. Tía Elena was never afraid to recruit any of them to help with meal preparations. Dicing tomatoes and peppers were well within his limited culinary skills.

Unless he got distracted and managed to cut himself.

“Once again,” said Héctor slowly, the knife already producing a steady rhythmic sound on the cutting board as he chopped, “ _gracias_. We appreciate the invitation. It was very kind of you.”

Glancing up from the tortilla in the skillet, Imelda said, “It honestly isn’t much trouble. Miguel is a sweet boy and Coco seems to really like him. And… I suppose it is a change of pace to have company over. Even before we moved here, it wasn’t a common occurrence.”

“Well,” he said carefully, “if you ever want company over again, all you have to do is ask.” Giving her a small grin, Héctor added, “You don’t have to bribe us with food for that.”

“First, I don’t think it is a bribe if I’m making you work for it. Be careful with the onions.” As Héctor returned his focus to trying to remember the proper technique for dicing onions without burning everyone’s eyes out, Imelda continued, “And second, the company is merely a pleasant side effect. I’m doing this for your _primo_. The two of you are far too skinny to be healthy and I’m not letting Miguel turn into a complete skeleton like you.”

Héctor chuckled lightly as she took the warm tortilla off the skillet and set the entire batch aside. It was perfect: right on the brink of a delicious charred state, but not yet burnt. Then she started cracking eggs to fry. The sizzling sound filled the kitchen and joined the rhythmic _clack-clack-clack_ of the knife chopping the onions into tiny pieces. He needed to blink rapidly as it made his eyes water and burn, but he found the atmosphere to be calming, peaceful, and relaxing. Making breakfast shouldn’t feel so soothing or pleasant. It shouldn’t leave a faint and wistful smile on his face.

The company must be responsible.


	7. Allegro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the lack of updates recently on any of my stories. But “Kingdom Hearts 3” was released and I’ve waited far too long for that game. It has captured my attention, time, and brain fully. I barely managed to break free long enough to give you an update.
> 
> Everyone seems to approve of the nice breakfast idea with Héctor and Imelda. I’m very glad to hear that. It might not be the most tradition form of a date, but it is at least a good start at letting them spend time together.

“—And that’s a picture of a cat I drew,” described Coco, pointing at another piece of paper. Gesturing towards her bed, she added, “And over there is my doll. She has the best adventures.”

“It’s a nice room.” Miguel nodded in approval of everything that the little girl pointed towards. “and you’re really good at drawing.”

“Thanks,” she said cheerfully. “Drawing is fun. But dancing is even more fun. Sometimes I draw myself dancing, which is really fun.” She paused a moment before adding, “And you’re really, really good at making music.”

Grinning broadly, Miguel said, “You should hear Tío Héctor. He’s amazing with a guitar. And his roommate is _the_ Ernesto de la Cruz.”

“Who?”

Miguel stared at the little girl in slack-jawed shock. How could she not know about Ernesto de la Cruz? He couldn’t believe it.

“Ernesto de la Cruz is the super famous musician with his own internet show. I’ll have to show you his videos later. Tío Héctor writes songs for him to play,” explained Miguel eagerly.

“Wow…"

Miguel could smell the first few hints of cooking food. The wait shouldn’t be long now. And he could already feel his mouth watering at the delicious scent. Coco’s mamá could clearly cook.

Speaking of the woman…

“I think Tío Héctor really likes your mamá,” whispered Miguel.

“Mamá is smart and pretty and nice,” she said. “Lots of people like Mamá. Tía Ceci likes her. And Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe like her.”

“No, I mean that he might _like her_ like her.” Miguel leaned in closer, feeling rather conspirator-y. “You know. Like how a boy sees a cute girl and wants to…” He made a disgusted face. “… _kiss her_ and stuff.”

“Mamá’s not a girl. She’s _Mamá_.”

The indignant way that Coco said it almost made him burst out laughing. But he resisted the urge. He never liked it when Rosa or Abel laughed at things that he said. And she seemed to be the only other kid in the whole building. Even if she was younger, Coco seemed fun and it would be nice to have someone to play with. He didn’t want to make her mad.

“Well, I think that Tío Héctor likes her and it is so weird. He’s supposed to be cool, but he keeps acting like a dork when he thinks about her.” He flopped dramatically on Coco’s bed, causing her to giggle at his antics. “I don’t know if I want him to go on a date with her and be mushy and happy or if I want him to just stop being weird.”

Tilting her head, Coco asked, “Should I ask Mamá? Maybe she’ll give him a hug. She gives the best hugs.”

“No, _gracias_. If he wants to be weird, gross, mushy, and everything I think he needs to ask your mamá himself. So you need to keep this a secret. Don’t tell anyone what I told you today.”

Coco nodded while putting a finger to her mouth, shushing quietly. Her face threatened to split into a grin.

“ _Mija_ ,” called Imelda from the other room. “Time for you and Miguel to come eat.”

“We’re coming, Mamá,” she replied, grabbing the boy’s hand.

The table was set and portions of _huevos rancheros_ were divided on the plates. Coco quickly claimed her spot while pulling Miguel to a neighboring chair. The eggs steamed lightly on his plate and the brightly-colored _salsa fresca_ reminded him of the food that Abuelita would make for the whole family.

“Make sure that you eat quickly,” said Tío Héctor, taking his own seat. “We still have to get to school.”

From the first bite, Miguel could tell a difference in quality compared to most of his recent breakfasts. Not that he didn’t like the bowels of sugary cereal. But the microwave stuff didn’t come close to what Doña Imelda could apparently cook. Miguel ended up shoveling it in.

“This is delicious,” he said.

“Mamá is the _best_ at cooking,” said Coco.

“ _Gracias_.” Imelda took another bite. “To be fair, your _tío_ did help.”

Her words made Tío Héctor’s ears pinkened slightly. Miguel would have probably missed it or the slight smile as the man glanced down at his plate, but Miguel was watching for the signs. It took all his self-control not to roll his eyes. Tío Héctor was such a dork.

“All that I did was chop some vegetables. Doña Imelda did all the hard work,” said Tío Héctor. “And Miguel is right. Your _huevos rancheros_ is delicious.”

“Homecooked meals are always an improvement over microwavable stuff. And for simplicity sake, you can call me ‘Imelda.’ If you’re cooking in my kitchen, you don’t need to address me so formally,” she said.

“All right… Imelda.”

Yep. And _there_ was the goofy expression again, Tío Héctor ducking his head again. Things would go so much smoother for him if Tío Héctor would just play her one of his songs. Then Imelda would fall for him and they could do weird mushy stuff where Miguel wouldn’t have to watch. And Tío Héctor could stop acting like a dork and could be cool again.

But Tío Héctor wouldn’t do the smart thing. He just kept acting weird.

Grownups were complicated.

Once the dishes were cleared from the table and bags were reclaimed, all four of them left the apartment and headed for the stairwell. Miguel vaguely noticed that Tío Héctor was quietly talking to Imelda about how it made sense to take the children to school together, that walking together to the _primaria_ was simply logical. Apparently he was already trying to see if they could meet up again.

At least Tío Héctor was trying to do more than just stare at her. Even if it was still weird and gross.

“Do you walk to school too or do you drive?” asked Coco as they stepped out of the building. “Mamá says since it’s so close and I’m a big girl now, we can walk.”

“Your mamá is right. She’ll save money on gas and won’t have to fight for a parking place if she walks.” Tío Héctor smiled down at the girl. “And both schools really aren’t that far.”

Miguel frowned slightly and said, “Actually, I don’t know if Tío Héctor even has a car. Chicharrón gave him a ride to Santa Cecilia to pick me up.”

“No,” said Tío Héctor. “While I went through a phase where I thought that it would be cool to have a motorcycle, I don’t have a car or bike.” He shrugged slightly as they wove through the early-morning pedestrians. “I intended to get a license. But every time that I planned to try, things would happen and I would have to wait. Eventually, I gave up on it. It’s easier and cheaper to just walk places or to ride with Ernesto. Everything that we need is close by and whenever I’m heading out of town, it’s usually for a performance with him anyway.”

“Tío Héctor and Ernesto de la Cruz perform for people during the summer.” Miguel grinned smugly. “You really should ask him to play for you sometime, Doña Imelda.”

Giving him a half-smile, Imelda said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Perhaps not when we’re on our way to school and I’m on my way to work though.”

 

* * *

 

A comfortable pattern started to settle into place. A couple days a week, Héctor and Miguel would come downstairs and join Imelda and Coco for breakfast. The kids would spend time in the girl’s room while Héctor tried to help with the cooking. He honestly was as bad as he claimed. The one time that Imelda encouraged him to use the stove, he managed to scorch part of the eggs while leaving the rest runny and undercooked. But he could handle the prep work and setting the table. The routine felt nice. Almost domestic.

Imelda actually enjoyed it. Miguel was a sweet boy and Coco liked spending time with her new friend. And Héctor remained just as friendly and helpful as before. She enjoyed both of their company. The two of them got a homecooked and nutritious meal while Imelda and Coco got a more pleasant morning. Everyone ended up happy.

The routine didn’t take too long to grow familiar. And she didn’t regret letting the two of them into her and Coco’s lives. They could find a way to make time for them. For a few friends. As long as Héctor didn’t distract her from their new lives, there was nothing wrong with spending time with people.

And their new lives seemed to be running smoothly. Imelda could balance her work with Ceci and taking care of Coco. Her job provided enough that, with her new apartment, she could finally regain control of the finances _that man_ wrecked. Coco was happy, healthy, and safe.

But one morning about a month after the first breakfast with the neighbors, the delicate balance and routine was tossed into chaos when she arrived at work to find Ceci in a frustrated and frantic state. The woman seemed to be trying to sew five dresses at once. And she was muttering through a mouthful of pins.

“—and I swear that if they didn’t pay so much for the rush job _upfront_ , I would have told them the exact same thing every other seamstress _with sense_ told them. How in the world do they expect me to make _this many_ dresses in this short of a time frame? They might as well ask for _forty_ dresses—”

“Ceci?”

Her head snapped up. Imelda knew that the anger wasn’t directed towards her, but her friend looked ready to stab someone with her fabric scissors.

“ _Lo siento_. You’re not going to like this, Imelda,” she said.

 

* * *

 

Almost as soon as the bell rang for lunch, his cellphone started vibrating. And while Héctor briefly froze in surprise, he quickly dug it out. No one ever called him during the school day. Not even Ernesto. And that was enough to instantly send his heart racing. Seeing the screen and realizing that he apparently missed several other phone calls earlier during the day, probably due to how loud a class full of eager music students could be, only made his concern stronger.

As soon as he hit the button, before he had a chance to say a word, a distress voice came over the speaker.

“Héctor! I know I shouldn’t ask,” said Imelda, almost frantically, “but there was a huge order that came in at the last minute and I don’t have anyone else to ask. I need a favor.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“I can’t leave Ceci alone with all this work. The only way that we’ll finish the dresses in time is if we both work through meals.” Héctor could hear things moving around in the background, indicating that she was working even as she spoke. “I know this is a lot to ask, but if you can pick up Coco from _kinder_ and bring her to me, that would help so much. It’ll be cutting things close, but I think you should have time to make it here and back again during your lunch break. I’m hoping, anyway. _Lo siento_. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”

“Of course, Imelda. I would be happy to help,” he said quickly, ignoring the slight beeping of warning of his cellphones dying battery.

The sigh of relief came across the speakers quite clearly. Héctor took the opportunity to grab an orange from his desk. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t have time for anything else.

“I do have an important question though,” he continued. “They are going to want me to know more than just her first name before they trust me to pick her up.”

Even with their visits for breakfasts, a few details managed to slip by. And surnames turned out to be one of those details.

After a quiet pause, Imelda said, “Her full name is Socorro Fonseca Fontana. And if they ask who gave you permission to pick her up, tell them that Imelda Fontana Guerrero asked you to do it.”

“I’ll run down and get Coco right now then,” he said. “And don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of her.”

“ _Gracias_. You have no idea how much this helps.”

As he hung up, Héctor tried to figure out the best way to get there. He knew kind of where Imelda worked based on past conversations and the fact he’d lived in the city for a while. But it wasn’t like he went to the place very often. He went over a few possible routes in his head before realizing that he would be cutting things too close. There _wouldn’t_ be enough time to get there and back after all, not before his students returned. And while none of them would report his absence, he couldn’t do that to them.

He couldn’t do it. And a quick glance at his cellphone dashed the idea of letting her know about the problem. The battery had died completely.

But Imelda was counting on him. Héctor couldn’t let down.

He just needed to be a little creative.

 

* * *

 

Sofía knew that music classes with Profe Héctor were rarely predictable. Every student knew that much. He was fun, entertaining, and an amazing teacher, but he wasn’t predictable. But that was part of the reason that they enjoyed his classes so much.

But even the man’s reputation for spontaneous and creative classes, Sofía froze in surprise when she came through the door.

Standing in front of the arriving classes, writing on the board, was Profe Héctor. More unexpected was a small child balanced on his hip, the girl smiling excitedly as she nibbled on an orange. Neither Profe Héctor nor the child acted like any of this was unusual.

“Everyone, get your instruments out and take your seats,” he said. “We have company today. This is Coco and she’ll be joining our lesson. Here’s your chance to show off to an audience how much you’ve learned so far.”

Coco waved shyly at them while Sofía pulled her trumpet out of the case. Profe Héctor might have answered the question of _who_ the random child was. But he really hadn’t explained much. Like _where_ he managed to find a little girl to bring to class. They’d heard about his _primo_ , the man always excited to talk about Miguel, but Coco was definitely new.

Well, someone would have theories by the end of the day. Until then, Sofía would just go along with it. Profe Héctor wouldn’t be Profe Héctor without his quirks.

 

* * *

 

After her desperate phone calls to Héctor were finally answered, Imelda barely had time to think. Ceci was doing the more complicated and delicate stitching, her fingers moving like lightning across the fabric. But in order to free up the woman for the more difficult parts, Imelda was trying to do everything else. There were too many dresses to finish. She couldn’t pause or slow down. She couldn’t even think. It didn’t take long to lose track of time, Imelda too focused on her work.

Threads, needles, pins, and fabric filled her vision. The sewing machine filled her ears. Her mind went into autopilot mode as she worked. With the certainty that Héctor would pick up Coco, she didn’t have to think or worry about it. And the abrupt heavy workload was distracting enough already. Imelda didn’t even look up until she heard Ceci groan tiredly.

“I’m going to have a migraine before long,” she muttered, pulling off her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. “No more rush orders. Not for this many at once.” Ceci slowly replaced her glasses and looked up. “What time is it?”

Imelda glanced up at the clock, intending to answer. But then she froze. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be that late.

Where was Héctor with Coco? They should have been there _hours_ ago. How could she have been so distracted that she never noticed how long it had been since she called Héctor?

Where was her _daughter_?

Almost as if in answer to her growing panic, the door to the shop _jingled_ and a chirpy voice called, “Mamá.”

“Coco,” she said, standing up and turning around.

A sheepish look on his face, Héctor stepped inside. Miguel held one hand while Coco held the other. Both children waved at her, apparently oblivious to the fact that Imelda was fighting twin impulses to hug her daughter and to strangle Héctor.

Clearly picking up on her mood more than the children were, Héctor grinned nervously and quickly said, “Don’t be mad. I was going to call you when I realized that I wouldn’t have time to get Coco here before my next class, but my battery died. I really need to work on remembering to charge it. I’m not as good at my evening routine as I am with my morning one. But I picked her up, got her something to eat, and brought her here as soon as I could.”

Imelda bit back the first sharp words, that he could have _found_ another phone and _told_ her, and tried to be reasonable. He could have told her. He _should_ have told her. But she did ask for a favor at the last moment. He really didn’t have much time or warning. And even if he could have handled it better, Héctor took care of Coco.

Her daughter was safe, looked happy, and was back with her. Imelda could probably forgive him for the less-than-ideal details on how he handled the favor.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Imelda said, “Next time something like this happens, find a way to call me anyway. Borrow a cellphone if you have to, but… _Gracias_. I appreciate your help.”

“Mamá, guess what?” said Coco. “Héctor showed me where he works. And they play lots and lots of music.”

“Is that right?” Imelda took the girl from Héctor, picking her up and balancing Coco on her hip. “It sounds like you’ve had a big day.” Smiling, Imelda asked, “And what do we say when someone does something nice like that?”

“ _Gracias_ , Héctor,” said Coco before hopping down and scampering to her corner.

Imelda watched her for a moment, smiling wistfully. Coco was getting so big. Imelda could still pick her up and hold her. But not for much longer. Her little girl was growing up.

But as she watched her daughter, Imelda noticed that Ceci had stopped. She was no longer sewing. Instead, she was staring at Héctor with a raised eyebrow. And she had an expression on her face that Imelda wanted to smack with a pillow, a little like they were teenagers again.

“I guess that I better get home then,” said Héctor, ducking his head briefly. “And once again, I apologize for not telling you that we would be a little late. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Miguel added, “See you later.”

The door jingled as the pair walked out. Imelda quietly returned to the dress that she was working on earlier. She and Ceci sewed for a few minutes, not saying a word.

“So,” said Ceci finally, breaking the silence, “you mentioned a neighbor with a kid. You never mentioned that he doesn’t look half bad. A little too scrawny to pull off the broad shoulders look, but not bad. Leans more towards being a tall and lean figure.”

Imelda paused momentarily before resuming her work.

“I hadn’t really noticed.”

“And he seems nice so far. At least from what you’ve mentioned and I’ve seen,” she continued. Ceci peered over the frames of her glasses. “Is he single? You should _definitely_ snatch him up before someone else does.”

“ _Ceci!_ ” hissed Imelda, glancing quickly to make certain that Coco wasn’t listening.

“What? I’ve got eyes,” she said. “That dress shirt doesn’t hide his nice body. And even if your divorce is recent, you haven’t enjoyed the company of a man in years. You deserve to have a little fun.

“ _Ceci!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Imelda isn’t married to Héctor in this version and Coco isn’t their daughter, they wouldn’t be Riveras. And Mexican surnames are a bit different. The middle name (1st surname) traditionally comes from the father's name (apellido paterno), and the last name (2nd surname) is the mother's maiden name (apellido materno). Add all this together and I had to come up with some new surnames for Imelda and Coco.
> 
> So let me introduce Imelda Fontana Guerrero (“Fontanta” means fountain or well, which has to do with water just like Rivera does, and “Guerrero” means warrior) and Socorro Fonseca Fontana (“Fonseca” means someone who lives near a dry well).
> 
> We also have José Fonseca Rana (“Rana” means frog), but he doesn’t get screen time because he’s a jerk.


End file.
